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A STORY FOR 


aSSBoSs and ginl5.Sk. 

AND 


MEN AN© W(DMEN 


Wtio Have Not. Forgotten their School Days.. 


jr 


A. C. BUTLER, A. M., 


Superintendent of Schools, 


Kewanee, Illinois. 



j^asvu^S- 

TAYLOR VILLE, ILL.: 

SCHOOL NEAVS PRINT, C. M. PARKER, PUBLISHER.. 


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Copyright, 1895, 
by * 

A. C. Butler. 




•i-E’ERSIMMdNS.'f* 


CHAPTER I. 

Everything that grows passes through a stage of 
greenness. Some things are greener than others, and 
some remain green longer than others. Boys and girls 
are not exceptions to this law of nature. Some trees 
are called evergreens because they remain green as long 
as they live. For a similar reason some people might 
very properly be called evergreens. In his youth, Per- 
simmons promised to be one of this sort. It may have 
been in consequence of his greenness that he was called 
Persimmons, or it may have been because he was so 
tall, lank, and slender, or possibly in consequence of a 
peculiar habit which possessed him of drawing his 
mouth into an odd pucker when he was embarrassed, 
that he was nicknamed Persimmons. 

The teacher called him Benjamin, his sisters called 
him Ben, his mother called him Bennie, but everybody 
else called him Persimmons. His mother was a widow 
and he the oldest of a family of seven — two sons and 
five daughters. They came from the South soon after 


2 


PERSIMMONS. 


the close of the war. They were poor but had seen 
better days. Ben was fifteen years of age at the time 
our story begins. Any one desirous to know the ages 
of the other children may find them by counting back- 
ward by two’s down to three, the age of a weazen-faced 
little cripple named Hez. They lived in a tenant house 
on the farm of Deacon Brown. 

School began at Hickory Hollow the first Monday in 
October. This, however, was a matter of little concern 
to Ben, for he had left school the year before early in 
the term, declaring he would not go to school any more. 
It was not his dislike for school that caused him to leave, 
but because he could not bear to be tantalized, taunted, 
and picked at by the whole school. It was not that 
they disliked him that they treated him so, for he was 
so good-natured that they could not help liking him. 
It was simply his misfortune to be the one boy in school 
toward whom all the jokes and “sells” were directed. 
Carl Brown was his leading tormentor. Carl would 
make such remarks as “Persimmons are getting ripe 
now,” “I understand Persimmons is going to start a 
whistling school,” “Have you harvested your gourds 
yet, Persimmons ?” The other scholars would all laugh 
nnd Ben would pucker his mouth. 

I think it is the pig element in human nature that 
causes all the members of a company or school to make 
one of their number the target for all the cheap wit and 
chafing jests of the rest. I have more than once ob- 
served all the pigs in a lot turn against one because of 
some deformity or excentricity of that particular pig 
and render its life miserable by nosing it around, biting 
at it, and chasing it around the lot. It was only the other 


PERSIMMONS. 


3 


day that I was compelled to remove a young rooster 
from my chicken yard because the rest pecked at him 
until his chicken life became a burden to him. True, 
he was an awkward, ungainly fowl, and what few feath- 
ers he had were speckled. Perhaps in chicken juris- 
prudence this was sufficient cause for banishment from 
chicken society. 

One rainy day at recess Ben was eating an apple. 
When he had nearly finished it, Carl Brown struck his 
hand an upward blow which caused the piece of apple 
to be hurled across the room and to strike Miss Ander- 
son, the teacher, in the face. School was called and 
Miss A. demanded an explanation. Carl Brown rose 
to explain, and Ben and everybody else in the room 
supposed he would tell the truth, but instead, he stated 
that he saw Ben attempt to throw the apple core out at 
the door, but he was so awkward that he missed the door 
and struck the teacher. This seemed so ludicrous that 
it convulsed the school with laughter. 

The teacher asked Ben if he had anything to say. 
Ben rose and made a straightforward, truthful statement 
of the case; but as Carl was the son of Deacon Brown, 
the wealthiest man in the district and the leading mem- 
ber of the school board, the matter was dismissed as 
unworthy of notice. As every teacher of experience 
knows, there are days at school when everything goes 
wrong. Rainy days, and cloudy, gloomy days are likely 
to be days of this sort. I think an appropriate name 
for such days would be “devil days.” This particular 
day was a devil day at the Hickory Hollow school. 

Ed Duncan was the worst boy in school. Miss An- 
derson had changed Ed’s seat two or three times during 


4 


PERSIMMONS. 


the afternoon for bad behavior. She finally placed him 
in the seat with Ben, who was always quiet and studious, 
reprimanding him quite severely as she did so. Ed was 
an impudent boy and retorted in a perplexing manner. 
Miss A. yielded to the impulse to slap him in the face. 
Let me say just here, by way of advice to teachers, that 
I think Miss Anderson did wrong. I have always ad- 
vised teachers associated with me not to slap or strike 
pupils about the head, even for impudence, but I have 
always pardoned them when they failed to heed the 
advice. The truth is, as I believe, there is an instinct 
in a woman’s hand which impels her to slap a child for 
impudence. It was the ready antidote for impudence 
of our mothers, grandmothers, and great-grandmothers. 
Without doubt, Mother Eve slapped Cain in the face 
for impudence a goodly number of times. 

Ed w^as an active boy, and quick as a weasel he dodged 
the blow and the broad palm of the teacher fell square 
on Ben’s homely, innocent cheek just as he had finished 
the word “biscuit” in studying his spelling lesson. An 
uproar of laughter followed the accident. The teacher 
bit her lips and Ben puckered his. At last the day 
which had been so full of misfortunes was near its close. 
The spelling class was called. The class was so long 
that it reached from the teacher’s desk around three 
sides of the room. 

Ben was foot. He was always foot in the spelling 
class, though among the first in arithmetic, geography, 
and history. By a slip of the tongue the little girl at 
the head of the class missed the word “biscuit.” The 
fact that she, the best speller in school, missed it seemed 
to stampede the class. One after another tried and 


PERSIMMONS. 


5 


failed, till only Ben was left — big, awkward B^n ; I can 
see him now as he stood three feet away from Ed Dun- 
can (who was Ben’s rival for the “foot station”) his feet 
well apart, his pants inside his cowhide boots, and his 
hands in his pockets. B-i-s-c-u-i-t fell from his tongue 
as if the letters had been oiled. After the confusion 
subsided, the teacher beckoned Ben to take his place 
head. He refused, saying “I just happened to spell 
it.” The teacher told him rather abruptly to take his 
place head.^ He shuffled along awkwardly up the long 
line, and when he was opposite Carl Brown that inces- 
sant persecutor slipped out his foot and tripped him. 
Ben fell sprawling to the floor, but sprang to his feet 
an instant after and struck Carl a blow which sent him 
reeling against the wall. 

There was no danger of Carl’s striking back. He 
was too cowardly. Bullies are usually great cowards. 
Miss Anderson dismissed the class and gave them all a 
round scolding, the innocent with the guilty. She said 
the climax of disorder had been reached and that she 
would call in the directors the next morning for an in- 
vestigation, and somebody might be prepared to be 
expelled from school. But the next morning the sun 
was shining, Ben’s seat was vacant, Ed Duncan had 
gone hunting, Carl Brown had the toothache, and the 
directors did not call. What a blessed thing it is for 
us all that the sun rises on the opposite side of the world 
from where we saw him last, and that with his reappear- 


ing he so frequently brings a turning- round in the con- 
dition of things. 

Ben related all the facts to his mother and finished 
by saying, “It is of no use, mother; I may as well quit 


6 


PERSIMMONS. 


school. The boys are all against me for some reason, 
and the teacher does not seem to care how much they 
torment me and snub me.” 

“But, Bennie,” argued his mother, “I would not mind 
it. You do not care if they do laugh at you; that will 
not hurt you.” 

“But, mother, I do care,” said Ben. “It is not hu- 
man not to care,” his voice trembling with emotion. “I 
may as well quit.” 

Mrs. D. with some difficulty persuaded , Ben to go 
with her that evening over to the Deacon’s to talk the 
matter over with him. 

Deacon Brown and fleshy Mrs. Brown laughed heart- 
ily at the recital of Ben’s ups and downs at school. 
Mrs. D. could not refrain from laughing a little, but 
Ben sat looking out at the window, a picture of discour- 
agement. The Deacon finally remarked, “I told the 
other directors we ought to hire a man teacher for the 
winter. A woman can’t do nawthin with them boys.” 
The Deacon’s family did not like Miss Anderson. The 
teacher had always boarded at the Deacon’s, but Miss 
A. had secured another boarding place, and this in a 
great measure accounted for her inefficiency. The 
Deacon advised Ben not to go to school any more, and 
told him if he would come and help Joe, the hired man, 
during the winter, he would pay him two dollars per 
week. The proposition was accepted and Ben felt that 
his school days were at an end. 


PERSIMMONS. 


7 


CHAPTER II. 

But one year’s time frequently works marvelous 
changes in human affairs. A new teacher had been 
employed at Hickory Hollow — a young man who had 
completed two years at the State normal school and 
who had taught very successfully in an adjoining dis- 
trict, and although it was the universal desire of the 
parents and children that he should remain, the leading 
director, who was a very wealthy man but who had no 
children to educate, said they could not afford to pay 
so much, so he accepted the better wages and came to 
Hickory Hollow. 

Carl Brown had not yet started to school, intending, 
as he said, to go to business college after Christmas. 
Ben’s three sisters had started and had wonderful things 
to tell each evening about the new teacher and the 
events of the day at school. 

Some times after supper they would take leaves of 
paper and fold and tear them into pieces of the same 
shape and size and show with them how the teacher 
explained fractions. Again, they would run a knitting 
needle through an apple and talk about the motions of 
the earth, day and night, and the seasons. They had 
much to say about the experiments the teacher per- 
formed and the curious things he would tell the children 
about frogs, insects, worms, and other things which he 
had caught and brought in for the general exercise. 


8 


PERSIMMONS. 


All this would furnish Ben something to think about 
during the long days while he worked alone in the field 
or helped Deacon Brown’s darky, Joe. 

Friday evening was the best of all at the Widow D.’s 
fireside. After the spelling down on Friday afternoon 
at school, the teacher always told the children a capital 
story and sang one or two songs for them. Thus Ben 
was kept in touch with the life and spirit of the school. 

About the middle of November the teacher organ- 
ized a reading club for the older boys and girls, and 
although Hannah D. was only thirteen, she was one of 
the big girls, and hence a member of the club. The 
second Friday evening after the club was organized the 
meeting was held at Mrs. D.’s house. They had se- 
lected Irving’s Sketch-Book as the first book to read, 
and on the evening named they read “Westminster 
Abbey.” The teacher drew a diagram of the abbey 
and explained all about it. He told them some funny 
stories about Queen Elizabeth and some pathetic inci- 
dents in the life of Mary, Queen of Scots. Ben sat back 
in a corner of the room, too bashful to join the company 
around the table, but his mind was buried as deeply in 
the story as his hands were in his pockets. 

Mr. White made several pleasant remarks to Ben 
during the evening. Ben puckered his lips when Mr. 
White remarked that he wished he had him in school. 
“I will tell you why for one reason,” said Mr. White, 
“We have organized a base ball club and there are seven 
good sized boys in school. I make eight, and we need 
another one.” Ben did not know much about base ball, 
but thought he would like to learn. The club had 
arranged to meet at the schoolhouse the next afternoon 


PERSIMMONS. 


9 


for a game. With his mother’s consent Ben agreed to 
go. The afternoon was fine and they had a “jolly good 
time,” as the boys expressed it. 

Mr. W hite walked home with Ben after the game, 
and they stopped at the gate and talked quite a while. 
When Ben came in he told his mother that he had about 
decided to start to school the following Monday. This 
pleased Mrs. D. very much, for she had been a good 
deal worried about Bennie’s schooling. The matter was 
talked over at the supper table. The fall work w~as 
about completed. The rent corn had been gathered and 
hauled to Deacon Brown’s. The widow’s share had been 
cut and piled into shocks securely tied, the apples had 
been gathered, the potatoes dug, and the straw shed 
repaired for the cows. 

As for fuel, there was plenty of that in the wood lot 
adjoining the house. Bennie could do the chores nights 
and mornings, so there seemed to be no reason why he 
might not start to school. 

“If Pete Small would only pay me the two dollars he 
owes me,” said Ben, “it would go a good way toward 
buying the books I shall need.” 

“Yes,” said his mother reflectively, “but I guess he 
never intends to pay it.” Ben had helped Pete Small 
two days during threshing more than a year before. 
Pete required him to work on the straw stack right at 
the tail of the machine, where the dust and chaff at times 
nearly strangled him, and where the straw came so fast 
that at times it completely buried him. 

As the wheat was bearded, Ben felt at night as though 
a thousand pins were sticking him, or a thousand mos- 
quitoes were biting him all at once. When the thresh- 


10 


PERSIMMONS. 


ing was done, Pete told Ben that as he did only a boy’s 
work he could not allow him full pay. Ben thought he 
had earned three dollars but was willing to compromise 
for two. Pete said he would hand it to him some time. 
Ben had asked him for it twice, and Mrs. D. spoke to 
him about it twice, but Pete did not have it “by him, 
but would hand it to the boy some time.” 

Just as the plans were completed for Ben to start to 
school a rap was heard at the door. The caller was 
Deacon Brown, who had come over to have a talk with 
Mrs. D. about business matters. The chief matter of 
business was to employ Ben to work for him during the 
winter months. Mrs. D. told the Deacon that Bennie 
had decided to go to school, and that she much prefer- 
red to have him do so. At this the Deacon seemed 
considerably annoyed and took occasion to remind the 
widow that she was still behind on the team she had 
bought, and if she was really as anxious to pay for it as 
she had appeared to be, she would be glad to let Ben 
come and work for him. He would allow him ten dol- 
lars a month, which for short days and light work was 
big pay, the Deacon thought. Hannah had worked for 
Mrs. Brown all summer at one dollar per week, but had 
quit when school began, which the Deacon thought was 
very foolish, indeed. 

The Deacon remarked to himself as he walked to- 
ward home, “I do not see what on earth that great gawky 
‘Jack-in-the-box’ wants to go to school for.” 

After the Deacon left, Mrs. D. and Ben talked over 
the matter of their indebtedness, which seemed to be 
worrying the Deacon. Ben got his pass-book and 
counted up the days, half days, and pieces of days that 


PERSIMMONS. 


11 


he had worked for the Deacon during the spring and 
summer, and, although there had been no agreement 
about the wages for this extra work, it was taken for 
granted that the Deacon would be willing to allow rea- 
sonable pay for it. In this, however, Ben and his mother 
found out afterward that they were mistaken. When 
Mrs. D. sold her poultry at Thanksgiving time she had 
money enough, with the footing of Ben’s pass-book, to 
pay the balance due on the team. 

The Deacon accepted the twelve dollars in money but 
seemed amazed to think that Ben expected anything for 
his work. He knew that the boy had “pottered around 
with Joe some, but the last thing he expected was that 
he would bring in a bill for it.” The fact was that the 
“pottering around” amounted to forty-six good farmer 
days of fourteen hours each, and fifty cents a day, since 
Ben boarded at home, was not unreasonable ; still the 
Deacon refused to credit the twenty-three dollars on 
the widow’s indebtedness, hence there was a disagree- 
ment. 

Let me say just here to my boy and girl readers that 
this disagreement arose from failure to have a fair un- 
derstanding at the outset. If Ben had insisted on an 
agreement early in the spring and made a memorandum 
of it in his pass-book and had the Deacon sign it, there* 
would have been no trouble. If people generally would 
adopt the simple rule of writing down the terms and 
conditions of business dealings instead of trusting to 
“We’ll make it right,” there would be fewer lawsuits* 
fewer losses, and fewer enemies in the world. 

Ben started to school on Monday after Thanksgiving* 
and to his surprise, and I may say discouragement, Carl 


12 


PERSIMMONS. 


Brown started the same day. It was Ben’s understand- 
ing that Carl would go to business college, and this was 
a source of consolation to him. But Carl had changed 
his mind, and it came about in this way: Mrs. Brown 
had invited Mr. White, the teacher, to dinner on Thanks- 
giving day. Her daughter Maggie was home from the 
seminary, and it would be delightful, she thought, for 
Maggie to meet a young man of Mr. White’s intelli- 
gence and refined manner. Then, too, he sang such 
lovely tenor, while Carl’s bass was promising. This, 
with Maggie’s superb soprano and Mrs. B.’s own neg- 
lected alto, made the afternoon one of the most delight- 
ful that the Brown residence had enjoyed for a long 
time. 

This w r as all very nice and no one objected, so far as 
I know, except Dick Snyder, a young “hay rube” (par- 
don the slang, girls, and do not repeat it) who had been 
a perennial schoolboy beau of Maggie’s. Mr. White’s 
interest in young people, particularly in boys who have 
reached the stagnant period in school life, led him to 
have a prolonged conversation with Carl, which resulted 
in Carl’s deciding to spend one more winter at Hickory 
Hollow before starting to the Buzztown Business Col- 
lege and Commercial Institute, presided over by Pro- 
fessors Gauzy and Tinsel. 

Mrs. Brown was highly pleased at this. It would 
seem so lonely and vacant like for Carl and Maggie 
both to be away from home. Then, too, Mr. White 
seemed so intelligent, so well educated, and capable. I 
need not say it pleased the Deacon, for, to use his own 
phraseology, he “didn’t take no stock in Carl’s going to 
business college, nohow.” 


PERSIMMONS. 


13 


I have spoken of the stagnant period. Will parents 
and teachers give me their attention a moment? We 
have all seen a little brook starting from its birthplace 
among the hills to go laughing, skipping, and bubbling 
along, drinking in sunshine and pure oxygen from 
above, and absorbing gritty carbonates from the rocks 
below, promising nothing but a brilliant career through 
the landscape. We have seen it reach a marshy or 
boggy place through which it oozed with perplexing 
slowness, becoming stagnant and sometimes filthy and 
scummy. 

We have seen it emerge from this swampy region 
and move along in a devious, uncertain sort of channel, 
sometimes beautiful, sometimes repulsive, but always 
more or less disappointing, till the more stately river is 
reached. Such, as my experience verifies, is a profile of 
the evolution or education of the average boy. His 
first few years of school are cheery and full of interest, 
his mind is receptive, he learns readily, and, with chance 
exceptions, is easily managed. By and by he comes to 
a marshy pool through which he must choke his way. 
He loses interest in school work, chafes under restraint, 
and the chances are he is a nuisance to his teacher, his 
parents, and himself, so far as school is concerned. 

If he could only be put to work for a year or two, to 
learn a trade or something that would develop muscle 
and character, such as the school cannot give ! Manual 
training in the schools seeks to help the boy cut a chan- 
nel through his stagnant period, but manual training 
for some reason seems at present to be unattainable by 
most schools. In the meantime the problem of what 
to do with stagnant boys remains unsolved. Happy 


14 


PERSIMMONS. 


condition of those boys in their middle teens who are 
provided with manual toil of some sort outside of 
school. 

Ben had just emerged from his year of stagnation, 
and he took hold of his studies with wonderful interest. 
Carl Brown was still stagnant, and seemed destined to 
remain so for some time to come. True, his father 
could havQ put him to work on the farm, but Carl and 
Mrs. Brown had other notions. Then, too, Carl had a 
horse, a road cart, and roller skates. It was before the 
day of bicycles. 


CHAPTER HI. 

As indicated in the preceding chapter, Mr. White 
gave twenty minutes each day to “Nature Study.” The 
woods, hills, valleys, and brooks about Hickory Hollow 
were overflowing with rich forms of animal and vege- 
table life. Mr. White was the fortunate possessor of a 
good microscope, through which new and wonderful 
worlds were opened up to those of his pupils w T ho had 
souls in harmony with nature. Ben in particular was 
charmed with this part of the work, and frequently 
remained an hour after school to learn more. 

Thus it happened that he and the teacher frequently 
walked home together. Mr. White loaned Ben some 
books to read. The reading club continued to grow in 


PERSIMMONS. 


15 


interest, and Ben was happy, only — . Boys and girls, 
did yon ever think how perfectly splendid, as your sis- 
ter says, things would be if it were not for the only 
which seems to be tacked on to everything. You re- 
member the evening of the party was delightful, only! 
The time you went nutting was a blissful time, only! 
Your Thanksgiving dinner was all you could possibly 
have wished, only! How hard it is for us to learn that 
half our oyilies are blessings in disguise, and the other 
half either misfortunes or the results of bad manage- 
ment. 

It seemed to Ben that his onlies consisted of at least 
two large ones and several small ones. In the first 
place, they were poor and he felt at times that he ought 
not to go to school, but that he should have accepted 
the Deacon’s offer to work for him, but his mother 
thought differently. In the second place, the boys and 
girls snubbed him, laughed at him, and tantalized him. 
Mr. White had observed this and had talked with Ben 
about it, advising him not to notice it or care for it. 
Advice, like medicine, is so much easier to give than to 
take. 

After Carl Brown’s first little spurt of interest in his 
studies had subsided, and the newness of school under 
Mr. White’s management had worn off a little, he began 
his old tricks again. First, he pinned the blackboard 
cloth to Ben’s coat-tail. The boys and girls all laughed, 
though it would not have been funny anywhere else 
except in school. The teacher removed the rag and 
took a few minutes to talk about the silliness of such 
pranks. He told them, among other things, that it did 
not require much intelligence to do such things, even 


16 


PERSIMMONS. 


remarking that a fool or an idiot would know enough to 
pin a rag to somebody’s coat. 

You may think it strange, but Carl took offense at 
this. He supposed that Mr. White knew he did it and 
took this sly way of calling him an idiot or a fool. He 
told the boys at recess that “Persimmons’” old coat was 
too short and, he wanted to piece it out, and at the same 
time said some disrespectful things of Mr. White. He 
also confided to his mother his feelings about Mr. 
White’s remarks. That aristocratic individual was 
piqued at the “thrust,” as she called it, and thought Mr. 
White was a good teacher but a little too hot-headed. 

Some days after, there was a great commotion among 
the boys one afternoon at recess. There had been a 
case of “tar-and-feathering” in the neighborhood a few 
nights before. Thanks to the advancement of civiliza- 
tion, through the influence of the public schools, but 
few of my young friends know wdiat this means. Ask 
your fathers and mothers to tell you about it. The 
teacher looked out and saw Ben astride of a rail, two 
boys supporting either end and several others holding 
him in place while they gave him a free ride in imita- 
tion of the “tar-and-featliering.” It was easy to see 
that Carl was the ringleader in this opisode. 

When school was called, Mr. White said nothing about 
the affair, but began the regular school work. He had 
made one talk about such things, and he did not believe 
in dealing too much in generalities. He had seen 
enough to spot the guilty parties. Carl, Ed Duncan, and 
two or three others were gleeful during the rest of the day. 
Ben worked away at his arithmetic, but the teacher no- 
ticed tears in his eyes several times. At the dismissal 


PERSIMMONS. 


17 


of school Mr. White asked Carl and his gano- to remain 
a few minutes. He said to them, “Boys, we had as well 
talk plain about this matter. I have observed for some 
time that Benjamin has to put up with a great deal of 
taunting, tantalizing, and sometimes abuse from you 
fellows. If he took it as a joke, it would be different; 
but he is very sensitive and feels deeply hurt at his 
treatment. 

Suppose you put yourself in his place for a moment. 
Let him and all the rest turn against you, call you names, 
and torment you as you do him. Put yourself on that 
rail this afternoon, and in your mind let all the other 
boys deride you. Think about it.” He waited two or 
three minutes for them to think and then handed each 
a slip of paper, remarking as he did so, “Now, I want 
you to write down just what you 'think. Remember, 
you have put yourself in Ben’s place and are writing as 
though you were Ben. Be honest and truthful, and if 
you have any pledge for the future that you desire to 
make, I shall be glad to have it, but I shall accept what- 
ever you write.” 

The letters were curiosities. Some of them were 
very good and showed the right spirit, ending with a 
promise to “let up,” as more than one boy expressed it. 
There was one, however, which differed from the rest. 
It ran as follows: 

“If I could not take ajoak I would go and soke my 
head , and if I ivas as big a baby as percimens , run and 
tell my mother everything, and the teacher was as awk- 
ward and green as percimens , I would see if I could 
get a job of work and pay my deats, but if it breaks his 
heart I guess I can let the big chease (done. 

Carl Brown .” 


18 


PERSIMMONS. 


Mr. White did not notice that Ben took all his books 
with him when he left that evening, but when Mrs. D. 
called him as he passed her house on the way to his 
boarding place, he found that such was the case, and 
that Ben did not think he would go back. Mr. White 
laid his hand on Ben’s shoulder and said, “Ben, my boy, 
this will not do; you must not think of quitting. I 
have taken steps to stop this foolishness and meanness. 
You are doing excellent work, and I want to tell you 
that you have a superior mind. In some respects I have 
rarely seen its equal. You are laying a good founda- 
tion in science, mathematics, and literature, and, jnj 
word for it, you will make your mark some day if you 
hold on to school. Besides, there is a principle of 
right and justice at stake.” 

Mrs. D. wiped her eyes with her apron and remarked 
tfyat Bennie was delighted with his school w T ork, but 
there seemed to be so many things in the way that she 
sometimes feared he would not go to school as long as 
he ought. She referred to the offer he had to earn 
wages during the winter, and they were so needy that 
Bennie felt as though he ought to be at work. “I try 
to encourage him,” said she. “I tell him we still have 
plenty to eat and something to wear. The girls will 
soon be strong enough to help, and we will get along 
some way.” 

“I see,” remarked Mr. White; “but let me tell you 
that some of the greatest and best men have had to con- 
tend against just such difficulties. The fact is, the 
overcoming of obstacles has in it something which re- 
sults in the development of strong character. It is not 
the boys and girls who have good opportunities, with 


PERSIMMONS. 


19 


all obstacles removed and everything favorable, that 
make the successful men and women. As a rule, it is 
those who have been buffeted by fate or misfortune that 
make the successful, trustworthy, and, as we say, level- 
headed men and women.” 

Ben felt greatly encouraged by Mr. White’s remarks 
and promised to return to school the next morning. The 
boys were all much kinder to him than they had been. 
Even Carl Brown kept his promise to let him alone for 
nearly a week. Ben entered upon his studies with re- 
newed zeal. It will break some teacher’s heart to hear 
it, but Mr. White excused him from spelling— that is, 
as a class exercise. The misspelled words in his journal 
about the study of nature were marked, and he looked 
up the correct spelling in the dictionary, and in this 
way he improved greatly in spelling. 

The schoolhouse at Hickory Hollow had been one of 
the old-time log structures but had been modernized — 
that is to say, it had been weatherboarded outside and 
plastered inside, windows had displaced the greased pa- 
per that our grandfathers tell us about, the fireplace had 
been closed up and a stove substituted. Mr. White was 
hampered somewhat, as many country teachers are, by 
lack of school furniture and apparatus. He had im- 
provised blackboards by purchasing slated paper and 
gluing it to the wall. One little patch he placed above 
the old mantelpiece, and when the arithmetic class worked 
at the board this patch was assigned to Ben, because he 
was the tallest and could reach it the best. 

In the modernizing process the space occupied by the 
old hearth had been covered over with wide boards. As 
far as Mr. White had observed, they were safe and secure. 


-20 


PERSIMMONS. 


Ben had stood on them and worked at the little black- 
board day after day, but one Monday morning as he 
took his place, one end of the board on which he stepped 
tipped upward and he went down into the pit below, a 
distance of three or four feet. The school was startled 
and thrown into confusion, but nobody laughed except 
Carl Brown and Ed Duncan. Aside from a sprained 
ankle, which caused him to limp for several days, Ben 
was not hurt much. 

Mr. White was angry, but he made no threats^ nor 
inquiries. He helped Ben out, brushed the dust from 
his clothes, and went on with the recitation. He made 
a careful inspection after school and found that the board 
had been pried up, the nails broken off, and the board 
so arranged that by slightly moving it a trap would be 
formed. ' He discovered, too, that a small portion of 
the end of the board had been sawed off. While in- 
specting the trap, his eye caught sight of something on 
the ground below. This proved to be a lead pencil — a 
new one, with the letters E. D. cut in the wood. “Some 
circumstantial evidence,” thought Mr. White. A few 
days afterward he had an opportunity to interview Ed 
Duncan privately. 

He showed him the pencil and asked if it were his. 
Ed replied that it was and that he had lost it some days 
before. Mr. White told him where he found it, at which 
Ed first turned pale, then scarlet, but he tried to look 
composed and said he supposed it must have dropped 
through a crack in the floor. But an investigation 
showed this to be impossible. He then suddenly re- 
membered he had loaned it to some one on Monday 


PERSIMMONS. 


21 


before; he could not remember whom, but thought it 
was Ben D. 

“Oh, what a tangled web we weave, 

When first we practice to deceive.” 

Mr. White told Ed there was no use dodging; he might 
as well make a clean breast of the matter and tell all he 
knew about the loosened board. Ed prevaricated till 
Mr. White explained to him what the lawyers call state’s 
evidence. Being assured by Mr. White that he might, 
by telling a straight story, free himself from punish- 
ment, Ed proceeded to tell how Dick Snyder, Carl Brown, 
and himself were in the schoolhouse on Sunday even- 
ing, and how Carl said he would like to play some trick 
on Persimmons, “for then,” said Carl, “he would quit 
school and go to work for the old governor, and I would 
not have to get up at five in the morning and curry the 
horses and milk the cows. If there is anything I hate 
it is currying horses and milking cows. Besides, just 
think of being routed out at five o’clock these cold morn- 
ings when a fellow is dead for sleep.” 

“So, while we were talking about it,” continued Ed, 
“we hit on a plan to fix the board and let him fall through 
the floor. Carl went home and got a saw and hatchet 
and he and Dick fixed it. I didn’t have much to do 
with it.” 

“I am much obliged to you, Ed,” said Mr. White.. 
“I think you have told the truth.” Mr. White then 
had a frank, friendly talk with Ed about such trickery 
and meanness. The better surface of Ed’s nature was 
uppermost and he seemed to profit by the conversation. 


22 


PERSIMMONS. 


CHAPTER IV. 

Mr. White detained Carl after school the next day, 
and after stating to him that he was at the bottom of 
the trap-door episode, and that, from what he had learned 
in various ways, he was well satisfied that the purpose 
was to drive Ben away from school. Carl denied know- 
ing about the affair, but his countenance betrayed him. 
The teacher had provided a few good elm sprouts which 
grew plentifully about Hickory Hollow. He took one 
of these from its place of concealment and, as a prelude, 
he closed his eyes and said : 

“Oh, Lord, I am going to whip this boy. Thou 
knowest I want to do right. I want to do my duty. I 
pray that this punishment may help him to come to 
himself. Amen.” 

He then proceeded to deal with Carl as Solomon is 
said to have advised. Now, I give it as the result of 
my experience, reaching back a quarter of a century, 
that nine boys out of ten would have viewed the matter 
right; would have considered the account square and 
said nothing to anybody about it. But Carl was the one 
boy in ten upon whom the punishment had an opposite 
effect. He hurried home, went in limping, and told his 
mother what had happened. A hurried examination 
showed the marks. Yes, there were the marks on back 
and limbs. Mrs. Brown felt that Carl had been shame- 


PERSIMMONS. 


23 


fully abused and that the family name had been dis- 
graced. She called Mr. Brown to see the marks. 

The Deacon looked at them somewhat unconcernedly, 
but before agreeing to call a meeting of the directors 
and discharge the teacher, as Mrs. B. declared he must 
do, he said he would have to hear both sides of the story 
and know more about the facts before making up his 
mind what to do. I j^ill not detail the conversation 
that followed between Mr. and Mrs. Brown. It was a 
family matter and none of our business. A few min- 
utes later Mrs. Brown, having hurriedly harnessed old 
“Bet” to the buggy, was on her way to Mr. White’s 
boarding place. Carl did not feel able to go, he said. 
Mrs. B. drove fast, “Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.” 
The teacher had just reached the door of his boarding 
place when Mrs. B. drove up and called to him. 

“I want to know,” she began, as he reached the gate,, 
“what on earth my boy has been doing that you have 
given him such an unmerciful beating.” Mr. White 
did not answer. Mrs. B. did not expect him to answer. 
In fact, she did not give him time, but began a tirade 
of vituperation, to w T hich Mr. White listened patiently. 
When she had finished her verbal dissection of the young 
man he remarked, quietly, “Mrs. Brown, if you will 
permit me, I wish to say that I did what I considered 
to be my duty. I honestly think I did right. I did 
not punish Carl severely, much less brutally, but I pun- 
ished him justly. I have no ill will toward him what- 
ever. I should be glad to have him continue in school 
and shall do all I can to help him in his studies.” 

Then glancing toward the horse he said, “Excuse me, 
I see your hitch-rein is dragging ^ allow me to fix it for- 


24 


PERSIMMONS. 


you,” which he did nicely. Mrs. B. now delivered the 
second volume of talk, which was much more reasonable 
than the first. She knew that Carl was very trying at 
times. He tried her patience sorely, but she usually 
could conquer him by kindness. He was a Brown, and 
the Browns were all stubborn. You cannot drive them, 
but you can lead them. Her voice and manner softened 
down toward the last, and, boys* and girls, you would 
hardly believe it, but my pen for it, she actually bade 
Mr. White a pleasant good evening and invited him to 
~ £ call and see them some time.” 

Carl did not return to school that winter. Foiled in 
his purpose of hectoring Ben into leaving school to work 
for his father, and being convinced that Mr. White would 
not tolerate his pranks, there was nothing left for him 
to attend school for. This was no loss to the school. 
Ben made good use of the time and soon stood at the 
head of all his classes except spelling, from which it will 
be remembered he had been excused. He had to quit 
early in the spring to go to work on the farm, but he 
kept up a course of reading; and, as Mr. White was 
employed again the following term, Ben made arrange- 
ments to start to school early in the fall. 

I say made arrangements ; this was by no means easy. 
Carl Brown started to business college early in Sep- 
tember, and the Deacon insisted more than ever upon 
Ben’s working for him during the fall and winter. It 
was finally agreed that Ben should w T ork mornings and 
evenings. He tried to have a fair understanding with 
the Deacon as to his duties and wages. He wrote down 
a list of the things he was expected to do each morning 
and evening. In a shop, a store, or a railroad office 


PERSIMMONS. 


25 


such a list can be made and followed with little varia- 
tion, but on a farm it is altogether different. 

True, there are certain things that must be done 
every morning and evening, but certain other things 
come up unexpectedly that somebody must do. To 
illustrate from Ben’s experience: Guinea, the old black 
cow, would be found one evening away over in Pete- 
Small's cornfield, another in Jones’ wood pasture. Ia 
the winter the water in the well at the barn became low 
and it was necessary to cut holes through the ice in the 
creek to supply water for the cattle. Again, during a 
snow storm the sheep all ran away, and it took Ben and 
the Deacon two days to find them. 

Ben arose at 4 o’clock in the morning, the sleepiest 
of all hours for a young and growing boy. He de- 
pended upon his mother to awaken him, which she did 
by thumping with the end of the broomliandle on the 
floor of his sleeping room, which was immediately above- 
hers, with only the floor of rough boards between. It 
would seem to Ben that he had but just dropped to sleep 
when thump, thump, thump, would go the broomstick. 
He would get up, light his lantern, go over to the Dea- 
con’s barn, and, when there were no extra jobs, com- 
plete his work and get home to breakfast by six. He 
would attend to his own chores after breakfast and then 
go to school. Sometimes extra work and bad weather 
delayed him so that he would be late, but Mr. White 
understood the reason and excused him. Some of the 
other boys, w T ho had little else to do but go to school, 
and were required to make up lost time -when they were 
tardy, thought it was not fair. 

Ben took more interest than ever in the reading club. 


26 


PERSIMMONS. 


During the fall and winter the club read Longfellow" ’s 
Evangeline, Whittier’s Snow Bound, Scott’s Lady of 
the Lake, Emerson’s Compensation and Self-Reliance, 
and Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice. Ben committed 
to memory a large number of the most beautiful pas- 
sages. Crossing the meadow in the frosty star-light 
mornings, there would come to his mind and repeat 
themselves such passages as — 

“One by one in the infinite meadows of heaven blossomed the lovely stars, 
the forget-me-nots of the angels.” 

He sometimes felt that his lot was a pretty hard one, 
but he felt greatly encouraged. Carl Browm was gone, 
and the boys and girls no longer tormented him, but 
would gather around him at recess and noon time to 
have him explain for them knotty problems in arith- 
metic. 

During the holidays, one evening Ben and his mother 
were talking over ways and means of making ends meet. 
Reference was made to the money that Pete Small still 
owed Ben and the twenty-three dollars that the Deacon 
refused to allow". Ben decided to go over to Pete 
Small’s that evening and ask him once more for the 
money. Small was at home, but he was glum and surly. 
He claimed that he had paid it long ago. “Besides,” 
said he, “that old black cow- of Brown’s has destroyed 
ten times as much for me as that little work would 
amount to, and you may tell him that I say somebody 
will have to make it good.” 

Ben felt indignant at this and wdshed that he might 
find some way to get even with Small. As he started 
home the moon was shining bright, there was a light 
snow on the ground, it was not very cold, and he thought 


PERSIMMONS. 


27 


lie would go home across the fields. He accordingly 
started down the ravine back of Small’s house. Near 
the foot of the ravine he heard a noise like that of a 
rattling chain. He went to the spot and found some 
sort of animal fast in a trap. He at first thought it was 
a rat, but it was too large — a muskrat, possibly, or a 
squirrel. “No,” thought he, “squirrels are too domestic 
to prowl about at night. They are always snug in bed 
by dark.” Close inspection proved it to be a mink. 

My girl readers would have been afraid of it. I won- 
der how many of my boy readers would have done as 
Ben did. He looked at the imprisoned animal awhile 
as if debating something in his mind, then said to him- 
self, “Yes, it is all right. It would not be right to take 
the trap; that would be stealing, but minks belong to 
anybody. A good mink skin is worth three or four 
dollars, but then it is worth something to skin a mink. 
It will just about pay me what Pete Small owes me.” 
As he finished this soliloquy he took a stick and struck 
the animal a few sharp blows on the head and killed it. 
He then carefully reset the trap and went home. He 
put the mink in a safe place under the cow-shed and 
went into the house. 

The family had retired. Mrs. D. told Ben that Mr. 
White had called in the evening and that he and the 
girls had been popping corn and eating apples and pie 
and had left some for him. Ben sat down by the kitchen 
fire, munched an apple, or two, and ate two generous 
pieces of mince-pie that had, apparently, been left for 
him, rehearsing in the mean time his conversation with 
Small and the events of his fruitless trip. He did not 
tell his mother about the mink, but as his mind dwelt 


28 


PERSIMMONS. 


upon it he remarked, “But I think it will come out all 
right, mother. Emerson says in his Compensation that 
persons and events may stand for a time between you 
and justice, but it is only a postponement. He says the 
swindler swindles himself. The thief steals from him- 
self. ” “That last,” thought Ben, “hits me pretty hard, 
but then I have not stolen anything. I have only taken 
what belongs to me.” He retired, and in a short time 
he was asleep. 

He dreamed that he was walking down a ravine, when 
suddenly a huge trap was sprung and he was caught by 
the foot. He struggled to free himself, but could not. 
Soon he saw Pete Small and a squad of men coming 
toward him with clubs and guns. One of them had a 
rope, at one end of which he began to make a noose 
preparatory to placing it around Ben’s neck! This so 
terrified him that, to free himself, he gave a convulsive 
jump all over, which waked him up. He found his 
heart beating very fast and his body covered with per- 
spiration. 

Now, boys and girls, whether it was the guilty con- 
science or the guilty mince pie that caused him to dream 
this horrible dream, is a question we must leave for 
physiology and moral philosophy to settle, while we go 
on with the story. Ben was wide awake. He thought 
of other quotations from Emerson, as “The dice of God 
are always loaded.” “Every secret is told, every crime 
punished, every virtue rewarded, every wrong redress- 
ed.” He thought of a hundred other things, but he 
could not go to sleep again. “What if Pete Small 
should suspicion something and track him ? Was there 
snow enough to track him?” The clock struck eleven. 


PERSIMMONS. 


29 


“A thief steals from himself” kept dinging at his ears. 
He felt a heavy weight in his bosom, or perhaps a little 
below it (was it the mince pie?) . He got up and looked 
across toward Pete Small’s. It was not very far — -only 
three-quarters of a mile. The full moon near its set- 
ting was shining brightly on the snow. 

He dressed himself, put on his cap and mittens, stole 
quietly from the house, went to the cow-shed, got the 
dead mink, and retraced the steps he had made two 
hours before. He placed the animal in the trap, sprung 
it, and then started toward home again. From an open- 
ing in the woods the schoolhouse was plainly visible a 
quarter of a mile away. As Ben looked in that direc- 
tion he saw a light at the rear window. In a moment 
it went out, then reappeared, continuing longer than 
before. This excited his curiosity and he determined 
to walk over to the schoolhouse to see what it meant. 
The light was extinguished and relighted several times 
before he reached the rear window. 

Approaching the window cautiously and looking in, 
he could see by the flickering light of the open stove 
door half a dozen or more fellows; among them were 
Carl Brown, Dick Snyder, Ed Duncan, and one or two 
whom he did not know. Carl and Dick had Mr. White’s 
“blue book” looking through it. Ed had his little clock 
winding up and setting off the alarm. Carl told him to 
stop the racket, but Ed did not stop. A scuffle ensued, 
in which the clock fell to the floor and was broken. 
Carl gave it a kick which sent it rolling under the desk 
to the farther corner of the room. Dick closed the 
“blue book” and threw it into the stove. He and Carl 


30 


PERSIMMONS. 


then returned to the teacher’s desk, struck a match, and 
began overhauling the papers and other things. 

As Ben’s curiosity was fairly satisfied by this time, 
he quietly retraced his steps, went home, crept up to 
bed, and was soon asleep. For the only time during 
the winter the broomstick failed to awaken him in the 
morning. A vigorous shaking from his mother aroused 
him at five, and he was an hour late at the barn. His 
mind was busy all day with the events of the night 
before, but for obvious reasons he did not say anything. 
He was in a dilemma. He could tell Mr. White all 
about it; he knew the guilty parties, but how could he 
explain his presence at the schoolhouse at midnight? 


CHAPTER V. 

Let me digress to say that Mrs. Brown and Mr. White 
were now the best of friends. Maggie had come home 
from the seminary to spend the vacation. Carl’s room- 
mate at the business college had come home with Carl, 
Mr. White had dismissed school from Wednesday — 
Christmas day — till the following Monday. Mrs. B. 
had employed Ben’s sister Hannah to help with the 
work, and the Brown residence was given over in a large 


PERSIMMONS. 


31 


measure to merry-making and sociability. Mr. White 
had called once or twice by invitation and as often of 
his own accord. He went to the schoolhouse on Fri- 
day morning to get a book of his that Maggie and Mrs. 
Brown wanted very much to read, and, as you may in- 
fer, he found things in a sad plight. 

The lock that he had furnished at his own expense 
and put on the teacher’s desk w T as broken, burnt matches, 
books, and papers were scattered all about, the hour 
hand of his mute and battered little clock pointed to- 
ward twelve, and his “blue book,” that he treasured 
more than anything else, was gone. The news of the 
depredation soon spread over the neighborhood and 
there was a general commotion. A squad of men and 
boys gathered at the schoolhouse, but the only clue 
that could be obtained was tracks in the snow leading 
from near Pete Small’s to the schoolhouse or near it, 
and from there to Mrs. D.’s. 

Small stated that Ben was at his house the night 
before, and he noticed that when he left he started across 
the feed lot. Carl Brown stated that he and his chum 
were at the village the night before attending a church 
sociable, and that as they passed the schoolhouse they 
saw, or thought they saw, a light inside. Mr. White 
hooted the idea of Ben’s having anything to do with it. 
Pete Small would “like to have somebody explain them 
tracks.” Mr. White stated the law in the case and the 
penalty attached to the breaking of a lock. Dick Sny- 
der trembled a little and said he thought Persimmons 
ought to be arrested. 

As a result of the conference, notices written by Mr. 


32 


PERSIMMONS. 


White were posted that afternoon in different parts of 
the district, which read as follows: 

Ten Dollars Reward ! 

The above reward will be given to any person who 
will furnish reliable information that will lead to the 
arrest and conviction of the person or persons who 
j broke into the Hickory Hollow schoolhouse on the 
; night of December 26, committing certain depreda- 
tions and destroying certain property. 

J. R. Brown, ) 

Peter Small, l School Directors. 

Henry Sypher, ) 

Ben had been at work all day repairing a piece of 
fence back of the Deacon’s barn with a view to having 
one place where he might put Guinea and find her there 
when he came back. This was by no means an easy 
task, but a more difficult task w T as to build a fence in 
his mind high enough to expose the guilty parties to 
the outrage of the night before, and at the same time 
not expose himself, and reveal the wrong which he com- 
mitted but caught before it fell. 

While he was working at this double task, Carl and 
his chum came out “to have some fun with Persim- 
mons.” They told him that old Burdann, the consta- 
ble, was coming that evening to arrest him; that the 
schoolhouse had been broken into the night before and 
things torn up generally, and that they had traced it to 
him; that Pete Small said he did it, and besides they 
had tracked him. As they walked away Carl turned to 
say “You had better skip the country, Persimmons. 


PERSIMMONS. 


3S 


You will have to go to the pen. You will have to wear 
broader stripes than that old jacket has that you are 
wearing,” 

Ben said he was ready to be arrested, and, though he 
appeared indifferent, it must be confessed their talk 
made him uneasy. He had not thought of his tracks 
in the snow since the night before, when it occurred to 
him that Small might track him from his mink trap. 
When he w r ent home in the evening he learned that the 
directors had called and talked with his mother about 
his being away from home the night before and as to 
the time he returned. 

Later in the evening, Mr. White called and rehearsed 
all that was said and done at the impromptu meeting at 
the schoolhouse in the morning. He asked Ben if he- 
really did come back by the schoolhouse on his way 
home from Small’s? Ben said that he did, at which 
his mother expressed great surprise. 

‘•What induced you,” said Mr. White, “to come back 
that way?” 

“I saw a light there,” said Ben. 

“Did you see anyone inside?” continued Mr. White. 

“Yes,” replied Ben, “but I could recognize only a 
part of them, but I think now I know who they all 
were.” 

Mr. White became excited. Fortunately he did not 
ask Ben about the time of night, but proceeded to speak 
.of the notices and the ten dollars reward, and told Ben 
to keep quiet till the proper time came to speak. He 
said he would go over to the Deacon’s and call again 
the next day. 

Ben was in a quandary. He was in a trap, and it 


34 


PERSIMMONS. 


was not a dream. He went out and looked at the stars, 
but could not think of any poetry that would fit the 
case. No quotation from Emerson would do it. He 
felt a weight bearing him down, and it was not mince pie. 

It had been reported all over the neighborhood that 
it was he who had broken into the schoolhouse. The 
whole truth would have to be told, including the mink 
opisode. Everybody would think he was a thief, and 
returned the stolen property that one time only because 
he was afraid of being tracked and caught. Mr. White 

would lose confidence in him. His mother would ; 

no, she wouldn’t. She would not go back on him. 

Do you think, boys and girls, that Ben played the * 
baby act when he went in and told his mother the whole 
story, from beginning to end? I don’t. The truth is, 
whether you believe it or not, no better friend or wiser 
^counselor can be found on earth. When boys and girls 
do things that they think must be covered up from 
mother and father, there is something wrong. They 
are on the wrong track; the track that leads to trouble. 

“I am proud of you, Bennie,” said his mother when 
he had finished. “I expect there will be a trial and 
you will have to be a witness, but just tell the truth and 
you will come out all right.” 

Just then there was a rap at the door. The caller 
wanted to see Ben outside. “It is Burdann,” thought 
Ben, “and I’ll have to go.” But he was mistaken. It 
was Deacon Brown. He spoke to Ben in a confidential, - 
winning tone. “I understand,” said he, “that you saw 
through the window the fellows who were in the school - 
house the other night. Is that correct?” 

“Yes, sir,” replied Ben. 


PERSIMMONS. 


35 


u W ell, was Carl among them ?” said the Deacon, softly. 

“Yes, sir,” answered Ben, firmly. 

The Deacon put his hand in his pocket and continued 
thoughtfully: “How much was that bill of yours for 
work summer before last — twenty dollars, was it?” 

“Twenty-three dollars,” answered Ben; “just the 
amount we still owe on the team, according to your way 
of counting.” 

“Well, we will call that square,” said the Deacon; 
“and here is a five-dollar bill besides, which I will give 
you if you will say nothing whatever to anybody about 
Carl’s being one of the number.” 

“I cannot take the money,” said Ben; “but I have 
always thought it just that mother should be allowed 
the twenty- three dollars. I have no desire to injure 
Carl, and do not propose to make any talk about the 
affair unless required to do so as a witness.” 

“All right,” said the Deacon, as he returned the 
money to his pocket-book. “I do not think there will 
be any trial, and we will call the twenty-three dollars 
square.” 

As soon as Ed Duncan read one of the notices he 
began to think of state’s evidence as a means of secur- 
ing the ten dollars reward. On Saturday evening he 
saw Mr. White and told him the whole story, and 
though he promised Mr. White to keep perfectly mum 
till arrests should be made, he confided the secret to 
several other parties, and by Sunday evening Ed’s 
’account 'of the affray was known to the entire com- 
munity. 

Early Monday morning Carl and his chum returned 
to the business college. Dick Snyder went to visit a 


36 


PERSIMMONS. 


relative in a distant county,, and the trial was postponed 
indefinitely. 

Mrs. Brown" made Mr. White a present of another 
clock, but the blue book, which contained many choice 
clippings, gems for memorizing, schemes, plans, and 
programs for school work, the photographs of several 
of his scholars, and many other things of value to him, 
which it had taken years to accumulate, was lost beyond 
recovery. 

After the storm which threatened to burst upon 
Hickory Hollow had blown over, domestic and educa- 
tional sunshine prevailed for a time. Ben continued 
to work for the Deacon and to apply himself to his 
studies till the end of the term. He was now eighteen 
years of age and was beginning to trace mental etch- 
ings of his life work. He had completed his common 
school education and could easily have passed the final 
examination if there had been any final examination to 
pass. He did pass the examination of the county su- 
perintendent and obtain a certificate to teach, though 
he had no immediate notion of teaching. It ought to 
be a matter of rejoicing on the part of boys and girls 
now in the country schools that, by means of a well- 
planned course of study which most counties in the 
western states in particular have had the good sense to 
adopt, they may at any time know “where they are at” 
and what comes next. 

Ben closed the door of the Hickory Hollow school - 
house the last day of the term wdth two ambitions in 
his soul. Let me say just here that the work of the 
common school is not completed until it has fired the 
soul of the boy or girl with at least one ambition. 


PERSIMMONS. 


37 


When its fails to do this, there is something wrong with 
the school or with the boy or girl. Ben had a pair of 
them. 

Mr. White was himself fully imbued with a deter- 
mination to complete the course of study at the univer- 
sity, and had, by simply rehearsing to Ben his longings 
in this regard, imbued him with the same desire. This 
ambition took deeper and deeper root in his mind and 
heart as the days went by. It seemed to him, however, 
that a stone wall intervened. He was the main depend- 
ence for support of his widowed mother, five sisters, and 
crippled brother. 

Ben’s other ambition w T as subsidiary to this one, but 
it frequently happens that subsidiary things are the 
most important of all things. Money, for example, is 
subsidiary to all that it will buy. Ben’s subsidiary 
ambition was to buy a little farm and pay for it, that 
his mother might have a home. Since that night in 
1862 when his father was called to the door of their 
southern home, shot down like a dog, and left to die on 
the portico of his own house, she had known only suf- 
fering, privation, and drudgery. 

During the summer Ben worked hard on the land his 
mother had leased from Deacon Brown, but the soil 
was poor or worn out, as farmers say, and with all his 
hard work only half a crop could be realized. 

Mrs. D. had placed the settlement of her husband’s 
estate in the south in the hands of an attorney. Dur- 
ing the summer he sent her a draft for six hundred 
dollars, with the information that after paying debts, 
mileage, interest, and cost of litigation of doubtful 
claims, and attorney’s fees, this was all there was left, 


38 


PERSIMMONS. 


Yes, all that was left of an estate valued five years be- 
fore at not less than five thousand dollars, and against 
which there were claims of less than one thousand, as 
nearly as Mrs. D. could recall and count up. But that 
is the way of the world, boys and girls. As in days of 
old there were scribes and hypocrites, who devoured 
widows’ houses, so there are to-day. This is one reason 
why girls should be taught to transact business the same 
as boys. The fact that the attorney was a relative of 
Mrs. D. did not help matters any. 

It was soon known that Mrs. D. wanted to buy a little 
farm and would pay six hundred dollars down. It 
would be interesting to talk about all the farms in the 
neighborhood for sale, each of which, in the estimation 
of the owner, would be a little paradise for Mrs. D. and 
her family. First the Deacon called. He talked long 
and feelingly. He reminded Mrs. D. of how he had 
befriended her, how he took her in and gave her shelter 
when there was no eye to pity her and no arm to save. 
He quoted scripture and expatiated again upon the 
merits of the farm upon which they were then living. 

The farm, forty acres, he said would sell any day for 
fifty dollars an acre, but he would make it to her and 
Ben for even sixteen hundred — six hundred down, time 
on balance. He quoted more scripture, and finally 
arose to leave, remarking as he did so that he would 
call the next day with his carriage and they would go 
to town and fix up the papers. When Ben replied that 
they were not yet ready to buy, but would think about 
it, the Deacon smiled and remarked that other parties 
were waiting to take the farm at a higher figure. Ben 
then told him frankly to sell it to the other parties, that 


PERSIMMONS. 


39 


lie and his mother did not want it. At this the Deacon 
seemed perplexed, and said something about ingratitude 
as he went away. 

Pete Small had a farm to sell, consisting mostly of 
brush, barrens, and stumps, with a few rocks projecting 
from the clay here and there. He called one sultry day 
in August, and after getting a drink of water inquired 
for Ben. Mrs. D. sent one of the girls to call Ben, who 
was working in the field near by. Small shook hands 
with Ben in a friendly, guilty way, and asked “How t 
much was that little bill for helping me thresh a year or 
two ago? I declare I had most forgotten about that!” 

“Three dollars,” said Ben. Pete put his hand in his 
pocket, but found he had, in changing his clothing that 
afternoon, forgotten his pocket-book! He said, how- 
ever, that he would hand it to Ben the next time he met 
him. He then proceeded to tell Mrs. D. and Ben confi- 
dentially that there was a flaw in the title to the Dea- 
con’s farm, and dwelt at length on the superiority of the 
one he had to sell. After exacting a promise from Ben 
and his mother to come and look at his farm, he rode 
away. 

A real estate agent from town called early one morn- 
ing with a splendid team and carriage and took the 
widow and her son to look at farms. They had a de- 
lightful outing, a first-class dinner at a farm house, and 
saw some pretty good farms, but they did not buy just 
yet. 

It happened on this tour with the agent that they 
passed a place which was apparently deserted. There 
were a good house and barn, orchard, and other im- 
provements, but neglect was everywhere visible. Ben 


40 


PERSIMMONS. 


asked the agent about it and was informed that it had 
belonged to a shiftless fellow wdio, he had understood, 
had traded it to a man in Ohio for a patent right to 
manufacture farm gates and portable pig pens, and that 
the purchaser was coming soon to take possession of it. 
Ben winked at his mother and looked back at the place 
as the agent clucked the team into a lively trot. 

A day or two after, Ben went over to the neighbor- 
hood where the neglected farm was located. He learned 
from a clever farmer living near that the farm belonged 
to an old gentleman living in town who had bought it 
a few years before and improved it for his son. The 
son was a visionary, erratic sort of fellow who had tried 
first to make a fortune out of bees, then qhickens, then 
silk worms ; besides trying on a large scale the growing 
of broomcorn, buckwheat, and white beans. These all 
in turn failed. The old gentleman had become tired 
of helping his son out at the end of each year. The 
wife of the said son had now gone home with her chil- 
dren to spend a few moths visiting her mother, and the 
son had taken an agency to sell and set up windmills. 

Ben went to see the old gentleman. They w T ent out 
and looked over the farm together. Ben was satisfied 
that the soil was of the very best and only needed cul- 
tivation to produce abundant crops. It was only three 
miles from town and half a mile from a good school- 
house. He took his mother and sister Hannah the next 
day to look at it. It was the judgment of men in the 
neighborhood that the farm with its improvements was 
worth fifty dollars per acre. It should be remembered 
that the price of land in Illinois at that time was only 
about half as much as it is now. 


PERSIMMONS. 


41 


The following week Ben bought the farm — sixty acres 
at forty dollars per acre, — incurring a debt of eighteen 
hundred dollars, to be paid within five years. 


CHAPTER VI. 

Dear boys and girls, we must now leave Ben for 
awhile and trace the career of Carl Brown. 

Carl returned from the business college in June with 
his diploma, setting forth that he was a business grad- 
uate now, ready to take a position in any store, bank, 
office, counting-room, or to fill a 'vacancy in any line of 
business needing a good bookkeeper. While all this was 
claimed in general by Carl and his diploma, hp thought 
the banking business best suited to his taste and pro- 
ficiency. 

While loafing around home and riding about in his 
road cart, he passed along one day where .Ben was 
plowing corn. “Hello, Persimmons, still rooting in the 
ground, are you?’’ said he. 

“Yes,” replied Ben; “I am like the steward that St. 
Luke tells about, only I am different. I cannot beg, 
and to dig I am not ashamed.” 

“Oh, going to be a preacher, aren’t you?” said Carl. 


42 


PERSIMMONS. 


“I am a preacher now,” said Ben. “I preach to this 
growing corn and it preaches to me. My church is a 
big one. The birds are the choir, the flowers carpet 
the aisles, the sun is the chandelier, the clouds are the 
frescoing, the gladness of nature is the incense, work 
is the prayer.” 

“I always thought you would go crazy some time,” 
said Carl. 

“What are you going to do?” said Ben, apparently 
not noticing Carl's last remark. 

“Be a banker,” said Carl, as he tipped his hat to one 
side of his head. 

“Isn’t the banking business pretty well overdone?” 
said Ben. 

“Yes, but there is plenty of room at the top,” said 
Carl. 

“I have heard there is a good deal of room up there,” 
said Ben, “but I have noticed that it is chaffy stuff 
mostly that is blown the highest. For my part, I shall 
stick pretty close to the ground; click, click, get up, 
Jim.” Ben plowed on and Carl rode aw T ay. 

To gratify Carl and his mother and to rid himself of ' 
their incessant prodding him about it, the Deacon spoke 
one day to his friend, Mr. Bond, of the First National 
Bank, about Carl. 

“We do not really need any one now,” said Mr. B., 
“but if he has a mind to come in here and work awhile, 
he may do so ; he can be learning, but of course there 
will not be any pay in it for him. It is customary for 
boys to work three to six months on trial, without pay, 
to learn the business. You understand how that is, 
Mr. Brown.” 


PERSIMMONS. 43 

“Y-e-s,” drawled the Deacon, “but Carl has been at- 
tending the business college and has a diplo” 

“Tut, tut,” interrupted Mr. Bond; “if he is a bright 
boy and has a good common school education, can write 
a fair hand, and can add, his diploma is not worth that 
(snapping his fingers) for our business.” 

Now, boys and girls, I am only telling you what Mr. 
Bond said. My own opinion about it is that a course of 
study at a good business college may be a good thing for 
the right kind of boy or girl. Not only for prospective 
bankers and merchants, but for mechanics and farmers 
as well. 

Carl tried it in the bank for one week, at the end of 
which Mr. Bond told him he had no further use for him. 
Mr. Bond told the Deacon that his boy “could write a fair 
hand but that he was indolent and could not add.” Mrs. 
Brown was very indignant at this, declaring it to be 
prejudice. She “never did like the Bonds anyway,” 
she said. “They were always trying to domineer over 
somebody. Can’t add, indeed! why, Carl could add 
when he was only six years old.” 

“I guess not, mother,” said the Deacon. “Certainly 
Carl can add, but he cannot add as adding is done in 
banks.” Of course Mrs. Brown had the last word, but 
it is of no consequence to us. 

Carl continued to be a gentleman of leisure till one 
very busy morning in harvest time, when the following 
conversation took place between him and his father : 

“Carl,” said the Deacon, “I wish you would go and 
change your clothes and go out and help Ben. D. with 
the shocking to-day. 


44 


PERSIMMONS. 


“Well, thatis pretty cool,” said Carl. “I am not a 
farmer; I am a banker.” 

“I think it is pretty warm,” said the Deacon, possibly 
referring to the weather. “I think you have loafed and 
fooled around about long enough, and I mean what I 
say. I want you to change your clothes and go and 
help Ben.” 

“I will drive the harvester,” said Carl, “but I’ll not 
shock.” 

“You can’t drive the harvester,” continued the father. 
“The grain is lodged, and it requires somebody that 
knows how to handle the machine; besides, I’ll not have 
you dictate to me what I shall do and what you will do.” 

“Well.” said Carl, snappishly, “I’ll not help Persim- 
mons shock; I’m no clodhopper.” 

At this the Deacon became angry and said: “See 
here, young man, I have had enough of your tomfoolery 
business college nonsense and big-headed dandyism. I 
tell you right here and now, you will do as I say or you 
will leave the premises this very day.” 

“All right; I’ll leave theiq” said Carl. 

The Deacon took the team and began hitching it to 
the harvester. Carl went and sat down in the barn 
door and meditated, muttering thus : “I’ll show the old 
governor that I can get along without him. I’ll go to 
St. Louis, get a place in a bank, take my sheepskin 
along, tell them I have had experience, worked for the 

Pirst National at ville. Let me see how much 

money I’ve got. Three dollars and seventy -five cents 
left from that Y the old lady gave me yesterday morn- 
ing. I guess I'll not tell her I’m going; she would bawl 
and sniffie around; besides, I don’t want anybody to 


PERSIMMONS. 


45 


know where I am. I can send for my trunk if I want 
it. I’ll come back in five or ten years, pocket full of 
stuff, city clothes, brown moustache, silk hat, gold watch 
chain, diamond what-you-may-call-it.” 

As he said this he pulled out the gold watch his 
mother had given him the day he graduated from the 
business college and looked at it. It was seven o’clock. 
The St. Louis train left the station at eight. He walked 
out to the road just as Dick Snyder came along in a road 
cart. (Dick had returned from his visit soon after Mr. 
White left the neighborhood). He got in and rode to 
town with Dick, confiding to him all that had happened 
that morning, with the injunction on his part and a sol- 
emn pledge on Dick’s part to keep the matter a profound 
secret. He was too late for the train. He and Dick, 
however, loafed around town till noon,, playing some 
sort of game with balls which were rolled about on large 
tables covered with green cloth, punching the balls with 
sticks that looked like blackboard pointers. 

Dick declared he must go. Carl went to a restaurant 
and got his dinner, then went back and played again till 
train time. As the playing cost something, he now had 
but three dollars and ten cents, just the price of a ticket, 
to East St. Louis. “I am out of money,” thought Carl r 
as he took his seat in the car, “but I can pawn my watch 
for twenty-five dollars; that will keep me going till I 
can make a raise.” 

It was dark as Carl started to walk across the big 
bridge'over the Father of Waters at St. Louis. He had 
taken not more than a dozen steps when he was con- 
fronted by a portly, blue-coated, brass-buttoned, schoon- 
er-hatted gentleman with a little club in his hand. Carl 


46 


PERSIMMONS. 


looked at him in a puzzled way. The officious official 
pointed back to the window of a little office that Carl 
had passed and said “bridge fare.” “How much is it,” 
said Carl. “Nickel,” said the officer. “I have no 
money,’* said Carl. The man with the club eyed him 
from head to foot and said: 

“Who are you ? Where did you come from and where 
are you going?” 

Now, Carl had read in a little book, that his chum 
at school had loaned him, that it would not do to appear 
tender or timid when talking to a policeman, so he 
braced up and said, “I have been clerking in a bank and 
am going to St. Louis to look for a situation. I have 
some papers that I think will help me out.” 

“Let me see your papers,” said the man. Carl handed 
him the big envelope containing his diploma. The man 
looked at it a moment and returned it to him. “What 
is your scheme for grub while looking for a job?” con- 
tinued the man. 

“I thought I might pawn my watch,” said Carl. 

“Let me see your watch,” said the man. He exam- 
ined Carl’s watch much more minutely than he did the 
diploma, and said “Elgin make, Boss filled, all O. K.,” 
and returned the watch to Carl. He then handed Carl 
a nickel with which to pay his fare across the bridge, 
glanced around, and, as no one seemed to be in sight, 
he walked with Carl several steps. He finally stopped 
and said: “I’ll tell you what to do. Do you see that 
light straight ahead, beyond the end of the bridge?” 
Carl saw it. “Well,” continued the man, “the pawn 
shops are all closed now and you can’t do anything till 
to-morrow morning. You go to the place where the 


PERSIMMONS. 


47 


light is; it will be open all night; they will let yon stay 
there till morning. Wait there for me, and I’ll show 
you to-morrow morning where you can sell your watch.” 

The man turned to walk back and Carl felt relieved, 
for he could not help thinking how easy it would be for 
the man to murder him and throw his body in the river 
below. There was, in fact, no shadow of probability of 
the man’s hurting him ; but the kind of books he had been 
reading led Carl to think he had escaped the hands of 
an assassin. He went to the place where the light was, 
went in and sat down on a long bench at the farther end 
of the room. The place was dirty, dingy, and smelt 
sour and rotten. Men in dirty, ragged clothing kept 
coming in, drinking something at the high counter, 
laughing, swearing, quarreling, using obscene language, 
sometimes hugging each other, and playing the fool 
generally. 

Carl finally stretched himself on the bench and tried 
to sleep. He thought of his own clean, tidy bedroom 
at home, and wondered how his father would feel when 
his mother would cry and accuse him of driving their 
boy away from home. ‘‘Well,” he thought, “if he had 
not wanted me to work with Persimmons, I might have 
done it ; but that fellow and I never could get along to- 
gether. I’m in for it now; I’ll face the world and make 
my fortune.” , 

The clatter of wagons outside awakened Carl the next 
morning. He roused himself up and looked around. 
The place was nearly deserted. Four or five begrimed 
and besotted fellows were lying around on the floor and 
on the benches, apparently asleep. He stretched him- 
self and went out into the street; he walked up and down 


48 


PERSIMMONS. 


the wharf awhile, looking at the river, the bridge, and 
the boats. He then started up one of the narrow streets. 
Soon he saw a sign consisting of three yellow balls sus- 
pended in front of a little shop which a man was sweep- 
ing out. He went in and talked with the man about 
the watch. The man looked at it and looked at Carl 
suspiciously, and finally told him in very bad English 
he would lend him ten dollars and take the watch as 
security. 

Carl accepted the proposition, and as he walked away 
he met the policeman who had stopped him on the bridge 
the night before. 

“You didn’t wait for me,” said the man. 

“No,” said Carl; “I didn’t suppose I would ever see 
you again.” 

The man asked Carl if he had sold his watch. Carl 
told him what he had done and showed him the pawn 
ticket. 

“I will give you a dollar for the ticket,” said the man, 
“if you want to sell it.” 

“All right,” said Carl, and he felt rather cheerful as 
he walked away with eleven dollars in his pocket. Carl 
went to a restaurant, washed himself, brushed up his 
clothes, ate his breakfast, and then started out to look 
for a situation. He went from bank to bank, office to 
office, store to store, but a cold shake of the head or a 
querulous no was all that met him. 

He bought a daily, read the “want” column, and made 
note of all the places that he thought he could fill. Once 
or twice he was asked for his references, but his diploma 
did not seem to help him any. “You lack experience.” 
“We don't want a country boy.” “You are too verdant.” 


PERSIMMONS. 


49 


“You are too light weight.” “We want a hustler.” 
These and such as these were the replies he received to 
his entreaties for a position. After three days of fruitr 
less search he almost decided to return home, even if he 
had to work with Persimmons in the harvest field. He 
barely had money now sufficient to take him home, yet he 
felt too proud to go home ; he would do anything rather 
than go home. Thinking of home led him to walk 
again toward the river bridge. He saw on a sheet of 
cardboard tacked by the door of what appeared to be a 
large warehouse, the sign — 

Men Wanted for River Service. 

A new idea struck him. “Perhaps they want a clerk 
or bookkeeper,” thought he. ' “I’ll go in and see.” 

“Yes, we want a few more men,” said the baldheaded 
old gentleman who sat on a high stool in front of a case 
full of pigeonholes filled with papers like a post-office, 
“but I don’t think you wfill do,” said he, looking sharply 
at Carl over his spectacles. “You do not look like you 
could handle barrels, boxes, gunny bags, chicken coops, 
and live hogs.” 

“Yes, I can,” said Carl; for the situation was now 
becoming desperate; “try me. I was raised on a farm 
and know more about work than you think I do.” 

“Have you any references?” 

“No,” said Carl, determined never to show his di- 
ploma again. 

“Run away from home?” 

“No, sir,” said Carl, swallowing and looking out at 
the door. 


50 


PERSIMMONS. 


“I guess we don’t want you,” said the man on the 
stool. Carl turned to leave. “All right, come back; 
we’ll try you,” said the old gentleman. “What is your 
name?” “Carl Spenser,” said Carl, blushing a little, 
either because he had lied or because he was so cha- 
grined at himself for being ashamed to acknowledge that 
his name was Brown. 

The old man wrote the name in a book, filled out a 
little paper and had Carl sign it, which he did without 
reading it. (Boys and girls, never be guilty of signing 
a paper without reading and understanding it.) He 
then filled out a little ticket and handed it to Carl, say- 
ing as he did so, “You are booked for deck work on the 
Calhoun. She leaves for Peoria to-morrow and is load- 
ing now at dock B. Hand this to Mr. A., second mate, 
and he will tell you what to do.” 

Carl had never been on board a steamboat; he had 
never seen one till his arrival in St. Louis a few days 
before, but he pulled off his coat and went at his task as 
the only thing left for him to do. 

“Hyah, hyah, hyah,” said a negro to an Irishman, 
“we'll liaf to nishuate dat squashy lookin’ fellah; won’t 
he look slimy as a catfish when we roll him roun’ on dis 
heah deck and den duck him in de riber to rench him 
off? Hyah, hyah.” “Yis, we’ll make him trate to de 
whisky,” said the Irishman. 


PERSIMMONS. 


51 


CHAPTER VII. 

My dear young friends, did you ever see deck-hands 
at work on a steamboat ? If not, perhaps you have seen 
men driving hogs up a narrow chute for the purpose of 
loading them into cars. To my mind there is a striking- 
similarity. There is a gang plank somewhat like a sec- 
tion of sidewalk, about twenty feet long, reaching from 
the boat to the river bank, up and down which the hands- 
jog in a lazy dog-trot, one row going one way with bur- 
dens such as one man can carry, the other row going- 
the other way empty-handed, usually. The mate, who 
has charge of the men, carries a billet, a sort of compro- 
mise between a walking stick and an Indian war club. 
This he flourishes, and as he orders the men to do things 
he swears every second breath and hurries the men up 
with just such words or sounds as men use when car ring- 
hogs. Occasionally he punches a laggard with his 
billet. 

Carl’s first work was to assist in loading malt for the- 
Beardstown brewery. The malt was in sacks, each 
weighing about one hundred pounds. He had made- 
two or three trips up and down the gang plank, but the- 
waves and the slight motion of the boat made him dizzy. 
He was about midway the gang plank with a sack of 
malt on his shoulder, and as he was lagging somewhat. 


52 


PERSIMMONS. 


the mate came hustling up and said to him, “Hurry up, 
Punkin.” Carl turned and said, “Sir?” At this the 
mate cursed him and gave him a punch with his club. 
In his fright and dizziness, Carl lost his balance and 
tumbled backward into the river, malt and all. 

Raish, the negro, who, you will remember, was so 
anxious to “nishuate” Carl, was opposite, empty-handed. 
In an instant he plunged into the river to rescue Carl. 
The water was deep and the malt seemed to hold him 
under. It was seteral seconds before he came to the 
surface, but as soon as he did so,. Raish’s strong arm 
seized him and placed him on board. Carl was easily 
resuscitated. He sat on the edge of the deck dripping 
and pale as a ghost, while the work of loading the boat 
went on. 

He witnessed a curious panorama while he was under 
the water, an experience not uncommon to people on the 
verge of drowning. He saw a vivid picture or vision 
of little Paul Baptist, whom he and Dick Snyder ducked, 
or baptized, as they called it, in a snow drift several years 
before. He recalled the scene of ducking the school- 
teacher one time, in which he took an active part, because 
the teacher refused to treat at Christmas. He saw 
Persimmons riding the rail of the tar- and- feathering 
episode. 

These are only a few of the scenes, but thely will serve 
to illustrate. The lost malt was changed up to Carl to 
be deducted from his wages. It might impede naviga- 
tion somewhat, but if all the malt to be manufactured 
within the next fifty years could be sunk to the bottom of 
the Mississippi, it would hasten the millennium more than 
fifty years, perhaps a thousand. What a bier it would be ! 


PERSIMMONS. 


53 


That night, as the boat was steaming up the river 
toward Alton. Raish came and sat down on the deck by 
Carl and consoled him. He evidently thought Carl had 
been sufficiently “nishuated.” The conversation would 
be interesting, but we cannot stop to give it. 

“One fing, sho,” said Raish, “if dat mate eber punches- 
me wid his club, I'll kill him. I’ll do it, sho’s you bawn; 
if I don’t, dey aint no snakes. Ise free now, and Ise 
not gwin to be punched no moh by nobody.” 

It would make this story too long to tell all that Carl 
experienced on the river. The dirty hammock in which 
he slept contrasted meanly with the snowy sheeted bed 
at home which his mother made for him so carefully and 
downy like every day; the dank river air and stench of 
dead fish and rottenness from a hundred towns and cities 
contrasted loathingly with the pure prairie atmosphere 
that came through the screen of his bedroom window at 
home. The black coffee and bacon of doubtful age, the 
dingy looking soup, the hash and hodge-pudding made 
from all the scraps of victuals from the dining room of 
the upper deck contrasted nauseously with the morning, 
noon, and evening meal of food the cleanest, the best,, 
and the most wholesome, over which his father asked a 
formal blessing three times a day, supplemented now by 
a devout, silent “Dear Father, feed Carl to-day.” The 
ravenous mosquitoes which, like a guilty conscience, 
cannot be screened away, and whose hideous piping note,, 
twenty octaves above any other note on earth , exultingly 
and tantalizingly says “You cannot hide from me,” con- 
trasted with nothing he had ever experienced before. 
“Oh, for one slice of mother's bread, for one slice of 
home-cured ham, for one glass of clean, cold, sweet 


PERSIMMONS. 


M 

milk from the springhouse down under the big elm tree 
at home.” 

But he was in for it; he had commenced at the bot- 
tom with a view of working up. Have you not observed, 
boys and girls, that a great many people spend their 
lives beginning at the bottom ? 

Raish became Carl’s friend and companion. He was 
a negro of powerful muscle, and Carl kept close to him 
in the gang. 

When the stretchers were used (a stretcher is a sort 
-of frame with two chains running from side to side, the 
two side pieces of which end in handles, and which is 
used by two men for carrying heavy barrels, etc.), Raish 
would load the stretcher so as to favor Carl by giving 
him the lighter end. 

While unloading the malt at Beardstown the mate, 
who had been drinking more than usual— no small 
amount, by the way,— was more abusive to the men than 
usual. Raish had helped Carl to shoulder his sack of 
malt, the man behind had helped Raish to shoulder 
his, and they started down the gang plank. The mate 
had had some words with the agent who received the 
cargo, and was angry. Carl, or Punkin, as everybody 
called him, was lagging. The mate met him with an 
oath and a punch from his cudgel. “Let up on dat,” 
said Raish. At this the mate doubled his oaths and 
gave Raish a terrible punch in the ribs. The negro 
grated his teeth but trotted on with his burden. 

It was a beautiful summer afternoon as the boat 
steamed away from the landing, through the draw- 
bridge, and up the river. Muscooten bay was dotted 
with fishing boats, sail boats, and pleasure boats. Ex- 


PERSIMMONS. 


55 


cursion parties had come from many miles away to spend 
the day on the delightful fishing and boating grounds 
of this historic old town. A picnic party from the 
grove on the left came down to the water’s edge to see 
the steamboat. The reflection of the sinking sun upon 
the water painted another picnic party immediately be- 
low, as antipodes to the first party. Carl thought it 
was the prettiest sight he had ever seen. A band of 
music was playing somewhere, and the subdued and 
mellowed tones reached the steamboat with an effect that 
only those can realize who have experienced it. For a 
few minutes, the only time during his trip, Carl was 
happy. 

Raish continued to mutter, grate his teeth, and to 
cast vicious glances toward the mate. As the boat 
neared Browning, the mate laid down his cudgel for a 
moment to light a cigar. Quick as a flash, Raish pulled 
an ugly open knife from his pocket and made for the 
mate. He made several passes at him, gashing his face 
and neck in a terrible manner. His efforts at resistance 
were futile. The negro had the advantge of him and 
no one offered to assist the mate or restrain the negro. 
The mate sank down on the deck, partly from the loss 
of blood and partly from the influence of liquor, gasp- 
ing horrible curses. The captain, clerk, and several 
passengers hurried down to his relief. Raish jumped 
into the river, swam ashore, and, disappearing among 
the willow underbrush, made his escape; in fact, no one 
tried to capture him. The mate was taken to Peoria, 
where he lay a long time in the hospital, but finally re- 
covered, and was still a few years ago captain of the 
Calhoun. 


-56 


PERSIMMONS. 


The deck hands gathered on the deck in the evening 
and related incidents and experiences of river life, mur- 
ders, accidents, drownings, and hair-breadth escapes. 
Much of this was of the most blood-curdling sort. As 
they gloated over these things, Carl felt lonely, afraid, 
and wished himself at home again. The owls hooted at 
liim from the river bank on either side. The deck 
hands, mostly negroes, were very superstitious. They 
all supposed the mate would die ; they reported him dead, 
in fact; and one death on the up trip, they asserted, 
meant two going down. 

Carl felt that he was friendless after Raish left, but 
Rooney, the Irishman, sought to befriend him. Learn- 
ing from Carl that he had no money, he offered his 
credit for Carl’s benefit at the bar for whisky and to- 
bacco, which, we may say to Carl’s credit, he refused. 
He assured Carl that they would see the elephant 
together when they got to Peoria. The latter city, 
with its long rows of distilleries, where more good corn 
is worked up into bad whisky than in any other place in 
this fair “land of the free and the home of the brave,” 
was reached early on Sunday morning. After break- 
fast, Carl assisted in unloading the cargo, then went to 
the captain and told him if he would pay him up he would 
like to quit ; but the captain told him there was no chance 
for him to get any money till they got back to St. Louis, 
reminding him that he had signed an agreement to that 
effect. Carl remembered signing something, but he had 
no idea what it was. The captain told him, however, 
that his credit would be good at the bar or huckster 
counter for anything he needed. It may be of interest 
to state that these two institutions of the boat absorbed 


PERSIMMONS. 


5 T 


regularly more than half the wages of deck hands, and 
a gambling device took a good share of thq rest. 

Carl was thoroughly disgusted with river life and 
pretty well disgusted with himself. He walked down 
the gang plank, up the landing, up into the city, pawned 
his coat for fifty cents, and started in a northerly direc- 
tion, following what seemed to him the best traveled 
road. At noon he paid twenty-five cents at a farm house 
for the best dinner he had eaten since he left home. 
At night he stopped at a farm house, and the next morn- 
ing paid his last quarter for his lodging and breakfast.. 

His self-respect began to rise and he determined to 
find work, if possible, and earn epough to buy a decent 
suit of clothes, for those he had were filthy and ruined, 
and if he must go home, do so with some show of re- 
spectability. He did not succeed very well. Being 
hungry at noon, he stopped at two or three places and 
asked for something to eat, but was met with a cold, . 
suspicious rebuff. “We have nothing for tramps. We 
work for what we get,” was what the farmers told him, , 
who met him at the door. 

To appease his hunger he climbed over into a corn- 
field and husked an ear of corn — a roasting ear, — which 
he munched raw as he trudged along. About the mid- 
dle of the afternoon he stopped at a farm house for a 
drink of water. The lady who met him at the door 
reminded him very much of Mrs. D. She seemed . so 
kind that he asked her for something to eat. 

“I never refuse to feed anybody,” said she, “if I have 
anything cooked. There are a great many tramps now; 
some of them are worthy and some are not, but a body 
never can tell, so I just feed them all.” 


58 


PERSIMMONS. 


Carl told her with tears in his eyes that he was not a 
tramp. After eating his lunch of cold beans, bacon, 
cornbread, and buttermilk, Carl sat down on the door 
step and gave her a brief account of himself for the past 
ten days, reaching back to St. Louis, but no farther. 

She felt sorry for Carl. She thought her husband 
would give him work. They were very busy just then, 
she said, with the oats harvest, which they were anxious 
to finish as soon as possible, so they could dig a well to 
supply water for the stock. The stock well had given 
out and they were bothered about water. 

That night Carl slept in a good bed in a clean shirt 
which Mrs. Farmer Good gave him till she could 
wash his. 

O, these blessed motherly mothers! -What a dreary 
place the world would be without them. Who wonders 
that Napoleon said “The greatest need of France is 
mothers?” Who wonders that mother is the last name 
upon the lips of the dying exile or of the culprit under 
the gallows? “Don’t you want to lie on your little 
couch?” says the mother to the sick child. “No, no ; 
mother’s lap,” is the sick reply. “What is your charge, 
mother, for your services through the long and weary 
watches of the night?” “Nothing, nothing; why, man 
alive, do you think I would take money for it?” No; 
mother’s devotion is priceless. 


PERSIMMONS. 


59 


CHAPTER VIII. 

“Yes,” said Farmer Good the next morning, “we 
can use yon if you know how to work. Can yon shock 
oats ?” 

“Oh, yes,” said Carl, “I can do almost anything.” 

“That’s the way I like to hear a young man talk,” 
said Farmer Good. “There are so many young fellows 
now who are looking for a snap, that I sometimes won- 
der what the country is a cornin’ to. Well, you may 
help George and Will shock and I’ll go right on with 
the harvester.” 

Was it That the morning seemed so much like the 
Tuesday morning two weeks before ? Was it the voice 
of Farmer Good? Was it the birds singing in the 
orchard, or the calves playing about the barn, or what 
was it that made Carl brush a tear from his eye with 
his shirt sleeve? 

George and Will Good averaged up as two first-rate 
boys. George had passed the rubicon of twenty-one ; 
Will was two years in the rear. Will was a talker, 
George was a worker ; Will was easy-going and good- 
natured, George was quick-tempered and irritable. 

Isn’t it strange how nature amuses herself with these 
toys we call people? George preferred to work alone, 
so Will and Carl worked together, and they did nearly 
as much work as George, but Farmer Good was satis- 


60 


PERSIMMONS. 


fled, for it was his boast that George could do as much 
work as two ordinary men. Carl really enjoyed the 
work. It may be questioned whether he ever did any 
work in his life before that he enjoyed. It was pleas- 
urable to set up a big sheaf and range a dozen others 
around it, then break down at the band and spread out 
two more for caps, and then smooth all down snug. In 
two days the oats harvest w T as finished. During this 
time Carl and Will talked enough to fill a large octavo 
book. Will had an eye to business college, a clerkship 
in town, and nice, easy work in the shade. Carl gave 
him a few pointers. 

On Thursday morning the work of cleaning out and 
sinking deeper an abandoned stock well began. The 
■windlass, borrowed from a neighbor, was set up and put 
in place. George, Will, and Carl drew straws for turns 
at working in the well. Farmer Good had gone to town 
for more bricks. It fell to Will to remove Ihe bricks 
forming the wall of the well, and to Carl to remove the 
debris from the bottom and take the first turn at dig- 
ging. Will’s task had been completed and Carl was 
lowered to begin his. Girls, you may be excused from 
listening. The accumulation of refuse at the bottom 
consisted of several dead rabbits, a few rats, a cat or 
two, an old, bottomless well-bucket, a dozen or so tin 
cans, an old curry comb, the lost monkey wrench, and, 
as the sale bills put it, “other articles too numerous to 
mention.” 

Carl’s task was half completed when an improvised 
part of the windlass gave way, and an accident was 
averted only by George’s alertness and strong right 
arm. This necessitated Will’s going to the house, some 


PERSIMMONS. 


61 


distance away, for tools and material to repair the wind- 
lass ; all of which would have taken but a few minutes 
if Will had not stopped to talk awhile with his mother 
about the well, Carl loaded up the mud box, then sat 
down upon it to rest. A sickening odor surrounded 
him; the muddy water was dripping down upon him 
from above. He looked at himself and thought ‘‘This 
is another ‘nishuation,’ as Raish called it.” This made 
him smile. He looked at himself again: “Well, this 
is fine, I must confess,” said Carl to himself ; “me, a 
a born banker, in such a plight as this. Where is my 
diploma? In my coat pocket in Peoria. Well, let it 
stay there.” 

He then closed his eyes and looked inside of himself. 
An indescribable feeling came over him. It was not 
disgust ; it was not remorse. The dictionary does not 
contain a word that will fit the . case. If my young 
readers would like a clearer notion of how Carl felt 
than I can give them, I would advise them to read again 
the story of the Prodigal Son. 

He began to feel chilly; he looked up at George and 
said: “Say, pull me up; I’m sick.” 

“Are you sick at your stomach?” said George. 

“I guess it is my stomach,” said Carl chokingly, in 
that cadaverous sort of voice that comes from the bot- 
tom of a well or the pit of despair. 

“I can’t pull you up very well,” said George. “Will 
is coming now, and we’ll soon have the windlass fixed.” 

Carl meditated thus: “I have not been a dutiful son; 
father and mother have been too good to me. I did not 
know the value of home and parents. Perhaps father 
would overlook my foolishness and give me another 


62 


PERSIMMONS. 


chance.” He closed his eyes and said: “Oh, Lord, if 
you will help me out of this and help me to get home, 

I pledge my word and honor, though my word is not 
worth much and I have no honor left, but I do promise 
to straighten up and be a good, obedient boy. Try me; 
oh, Lord, try me.” 

He felt better, but after filling a few boxes he had to 
be pulled up. He went to the house and soon was taken 
with a violent chill. He was quite sick during the 
afternoon and night and the following day, but the 
common-sense doctoring of Mrs. Good, with teas from 
her own garden herbs, unadulterated, and roots from 
the grove near by, together with the more effective 
nursing such as mothers do, and for which doctors fre- 
quently get five dollars a visit, brought him out all 
right. 

The next afternoon — Saturday — he was able to travel. * 
Farmer Good took him to town and gave him money 
enough to pay his fare home. This was more than he 
had earned, but they called it square. 

Carl reached the station nearest his home a little 
before sunset and was wondering how he would get out 
home; he really felt too weak to walk, but come to test 
the matter, he felt pretty strong. He started down the 
road and had gone half a mile, when some one came 
clattering along behind him in a farm wagon, whistling 
“Merry Farmer Boy.” Carl looked around and saw it 
was Ben. He turned from the road, hung his head, 
and looked away to let Ben pass. 

“Hello, stranger, have a ride?” said Ben. 

“Hello, Persi Bennie,” said Carl. 

“Why, Carl, ghost of Beelzebub, where did you come 


PERSIMMONS. 


63 


from?” said Ben. 

“Oh, I’ve been seeing a little of the world,” said Carl, 
as he climbed into the wagon. 

The evening was one of midsummer’s loveliest and 
best. Nature was clothed in her airiest attire. A de- 
licious perfume came from the grove on the right, girls 
were calling home the cows from the pastures, quails 
were whistling bob white on the fences. 

As they jogged along, Carl gave Ben a brief syn- 
opsis of where he had been and what he had been 
doing, leaving out the maximum of bitter and dwelling 
upon the minimum of sweet. Ben in turn told Carl all 
that had happened at home and in the neighborhood. 
It seemed amazing to Carl that so much could happen 
in so short a time. Dick Snyder had been arrested for 
stealing. Ed. Duncan was mixed up in the fracas, but 
saved himself by turning state’s evidence. But home 
affairs w T ere the most interesting. Guinea had been 
sold to the butcher, Maggie had a new piano, the Dea- 
con had bought an incubator, and Pete Small had shot 
Major, Carl’s dog. 

Ben offered to drive all the way home with Carl, but 
the latter insisted upon walking across the meadow. 
What if his father should refuse to let him come home : 
he would go in at the kitchen door, the port of entry 
of all prodigals. A delicious perfume came from the 
kitchen, the lingering fragrance of the Saturday’s bak- 
ing — oh, ambrosial smell ! “Carl, my Carl, my lost 
boy,” said his mother, as she threw her arms around 
him. The Deacon coughed, cleared his throat, and 
said, “Why, Carl, my son.” 


64 


PERSIMMONS. 


CHAPTER IX. 

Ben took possession of the farm the following spring. 
There is nothing so pretty, so restful, so call-again-like; 
nothing that so nearly approaches Eden as a well-kept 
farmer’s home. Rows of figures in a ledger are pretty, 
but rows of corn or wheat in a field are prettier, and 
the footings of the latter nine times in ten show 
more certain gains than those of the former. Barrels 
of sugar, sacks of coffee, boxes of fruit, piles of veg- 
etables, baskets of eggs, hams, and bacon in a grocery 
store are attractive, considering they are all dead things ; 
but fruits in an orchard, vegetables in a garden, grain 
ripening in the field, cackling hens, and pigs in clover 
are much more attractive, because they are suggestive 
of life and living. 

Boys and girls who long to exchange the scent of 
clover blossoms in the country for the smell of gas and 
garbage in the city ; who long to exchange rural appe- 
tite and sleep for city excitement and dyspepsia ; who 
long to exchange the certainty of employment for every 
working day in the year for the uncertainty of work 
and the dearth of waiting in the city are longing to dis- 
pose of a heaven-born birthright for not even so much 
as a mess of pottage. 

Ben subscribed for a good agricultural paper and 
began to build an ideal farmer’s home. There was no 


PERSIMMONS. 


65 


better soil to be found anywhere, but it was overrun 
with weeds and brambles. The orchard was one of 
choicest fruit trees, but lack of pruning and neglect 
gave it a forbidding and worthless appearance. The 
fences were racked about and out of repair; the house, 
barn, and other buildings had a dismal, forlorn, and 
rainy-day-like appearance from lack of paint; old ma- 
chinery and remnants of old wagons were piled about;, 
brush, weeds, and old fruit cans showed where a garden 
had been, and stock had pastured upon, tramped up, and 
ruined the front yard. I need not fill in the picture; a 
duplicate of it can be found in every neighborhood. 
From just such homes sons and daughters turn with 
disgust toward the overcrowded towns and sin-polluted 
cities in search of that which gratifies a taste for beau- 
tiful things which we all possess, and, as they fancy — 
deluded mortals — to escape a life of hard work. 

By a division of labor, Mrs. D. and one of the girls, 
took care of the housework; Ben, his three sisters, and 
little hunch-back Hez worked out-doors, wdiile Hannah 
continued to work for Mrs. Brown. Susan was made 
chief manager of the poultry section, and Laura of the 
dairy? There was, of course, some overlapping when 
dairy maid and poultry maid assisted in the kitchen, 
and again when all hands worked in the garden, but 
each department had its head, and all were busy, all 
were happy. A great many people have a good deal of 
the gypsy in them. To those who have not so much, 
there is nothing this side of heaven so fascinating, so 
happifying as home-making. Some of my girl readers 
will be inclined to smile at, some to ridicule, and some 
to pity the lot of Ben’s sisters. Do not waste your 


66 


PERSIMMONS. 


smiles or your sympathy, dear girls; for, while it was 
not all poetry, yet never did the sun shine more lov- 

ingly— 

“On girlhood with its solid curves, 

Of healthful strength and painless nerves.” 

There is a Pete Small in every neighborhood. Sam 
Berkshire’s farm joined that of Ben and his mother. 
When Sam was not quarreling with his neighbors, he 
was discussing with some one the distressing times and 
the downtrodden condition of the farmer. Early in the 
season Ben had put his half of the fence between the 
farms in good repair, and Sam had promised to do the 
same with his half “as soon as he could get a little spare 
time.” I suppose my readers all know what a mirage 
is. Well, spare time and spare money are mirages. 

Fall came and the fence had not been repaired. This 
caused Ben no little anxiety, for his cornfield joined 
Berkshire’s pasture, with only the shackling fence be- 
tween, and Ben knew if the stock should once break 
over, endless vexation and loss would be the result. It 
is not always the unexpected that happens. One day 
in October, when Ben and two of the girls had gone 
with a load of apples to a neighboring cider-mill, Berk- 
shire’s cattle broke over the fence. When Mr. White 
went away to college he left his double-barrel shotgun 
and his dog Hector, a splendid St. Bernard, in Ben’s 
care. Mrs. D. saw the cattle in the corn and sent Su- 
san, Hez, and Hector to drive them out. This was by 
no means easy, but they succeeded in getting them all 
out except one, a spotted yearling that Sam was pam- 
pering for the county fair. It was he who broke down 
the fence and led the others over. He claimed the priv- 
ilege of going where he pleased and staying as long as 


PERSIMMONS. 


67 


he chose. I suppose Hector took in the situation, and, 
knowing that Hez was a cripple and Susan only a girl, 
concluded that the responsibility and the duty rested 
mainly with him. He accordingly quit barking, 
watched his chance, and grabbed young Tauro by the 
nose. 

Tauro bawled, pawed the ground, and turned a som- 
mersault, but Hector held on till Tauro cried “enough,” 
as all bullies are sure to do when gripped by the nose 
by some gritty Hector. The racket caused the other 
cattle all to break in again and surround the combatants. 
Hez and Susan climbed up on the fence. Susan began 
to cry, but Hez laughed, clapped his hands, and hur- 
rahed at the fun. When Hector let go, Tauro started 
for home, bleeding and bellowing, and the rest of the 
cattle followed. 

Mrs. D. heard the noise and w T ent to see what was the 
matter. Sam came too, with his gun. He was in a 
terrible rage, and would doubtless have shot Hector, 
but Mrs. D. called him to her, and it was impossible to 
shoot the dog without shooting the woman too. Mrs. 
D. tried to reason with Berkshire. She reminded him 
of how he had promised to repair the fence and called 
his attention to the half acre or more of corn that his 
cattle had trampled down and destroyed, but it was use- 
less. Sam finally w r ent away, swearing he would yet 
shoot the dog, cowhide the little scrub who had set the 
dog on his cattle, and sue them for a hundred dollars 
damage to his thoroughbred calf. 

The mother and children patched up the fence as 
well as they could and went home. 

Ben became very angry at the recital of what had hap- 


68 


PERSIMMONS. 


pened, but could not help laughing at Hez’s description 
of the panorama. He did not mind so much the loss 
of the corn, the threatened lawsuit, and even the threat 
to shoot Hector, as he did the thought that any man 
would dare to abuse his mother or threaten to whip his 
poor little crippled brother. His first thought was to 
go over to Berkshire’s and see him about it, but con- 
cluded to wait till morning. 

Ben knew enough about the habits of cattle to know 
that they would be almost sure to come back and break 
into the field again about the same time next day; so 
when morning came he decided to load Mr. White’s 
gun and watch for the cattle, and if they broke in again 
to shoot one or two of them. It w T as the only way, he 
thought, to get even with as mean a man as Sam Berk- 
shire. But the more he thought of this the more he 
did not like it. It would only result in trouble, and in 
a lawsuit wdiich might cost them untold vexation and 
expense. It might even cost them their home. His 
mother thought it w r ould be better to see Berkshire and 
induce him, if possible, to repair the fence. If he would 
not do this, it would even be better for Ben to fix the 
fence himself rather than run the risk of having his crop 
destroyed or get into trouble with Berkshire. 

About the middle of the afternoon Ben saw the 
neighbor’s cattle coming toward the part of the fence 
they had broken down the day before. Instead, how- 
ever, of taking the gun he took a basket, and, gathering 
it full of ears, he met the cattle and called them to a 
part of the pasture where the fence was good and fed 
them. While they were eating the first he got them 
another basketful. 


PERSIMMONS. 


69 


In the mean time Berkshire came from a place of 
concealment with his gun and sauntered down toward 
the place where Ben was feeding the cattle. He pre- 
tended to have been out quail-hunting and to have 
come along just at that time. Ben spoke to him pleas- 
antly and said he “presumed the cattle must be hungry, 
otherwise they would not want to break in.” “The 
fence is in bad condition,” continued Ben, “and if you 
are too busy to repair it, I will try to repair it myself. 
I was very angry last night, Mr. Berkshire, when I 
came home and learned of your abusive language to my 
mother, but after thinking the matter over I concluded 
it was better to suffer a little wrong than to have trouble 
with a neighbor.” 

As Ben said this he looked straight at Berkshire and 
talked to him in a straightforward, manly way. Berk- 
shire seemed humiliated and thoroughly ashamed of 
himself. He said he would drive his cattle home and 
put them up, as there was little in the pasture for them 
to eat anyway. This he did, and within the next few 
days he repaired his portion of the fence. 

After this, though they had little dealing with each 
other, they never had any more trouble. Now, boys 
and girls, Ben’s plan may not have been the best. I 
merely state the facts and leave you to draw your own 
conclusions. I have observed, however, as a rule, that 
to get even with a mean man requires the other party 
to be still meaner. The popular saying, “Fight fire 
with fire,” hasn’t a particle of truth or good advice in 
it. To fight fire with water is much more effective. 

As I have intimated, the entire family force was 
engaged a great part of the time in waging a warfare 


70 


PERSIMMONS. 


against weeds. There is nothing so arrogant as weeds, 
nothing so obtrusive, nothing that so defies the efforts 
of good people to accomplish good things in the world, 
unless it is the liquor traffic. Ben had learned from 
his reading that the vitality or strength of soil required 
to bring one big cockle-bur or jimson to rank growth 
and perfection was sufficient to produce ten stalks of 
corn with fifteen or twenty good ears. The energy 
wasted by boys and girls sometimes in school in play, 
disorder, and mischief, works for intellectual growth as 
weeds in a garden for vegetable growth. 

The soil, though fertile, was foul, and as a result the 
first year’s crop was short, consequently it was only by 
the most rigid economy, supplemented by Hannah’s 
earnings, that the payment on the farm was met. 

The second year was much better; so much better, in 
fact, that the payment was easily met and some needed 
farm machinery, some furniture for the house, an extra 
cow, some books that Ben wanted, and other things 
that make for comfort and prosperity were bought and 
paid for. Besides all this, there was a little money left. 

About this time Mrs. D. received a letter from a rel- 
ative in the South to the effect that fraud had been 
discovered in the settlement of her estate, and that if 
she and one or two of the children would come down it 
would result in restoring to her several hundred dollars 
of her money. 

Deacon Brown heard of this incidentally and called 
one day to learn more about it and to offer any assist- 
ance that might be needed. He offered to lend Mrs. D. 
money for the trip, and if she desired it he would 
arrange to go with her and Hannah, having had, as he 


PERSIMMONS. 


71 


said, a great deal of experience in, settling up estates 
and knowing pretty well the ins and outs of probate 
law. Mrs. D. thanked him very kindly and said that 
they were undecided as to what they would do. 

Many family conferences were held about the matter. 
The widow knew that she had been defrauded out of at 
least two thousand dollars, but supposed there was no 
help for it. It was finally decided, however, though 
they had little faith in it, that Mrs. D., Hannah, and 
Ben should go. It was about the first of November 
when they started. They were met by loving relatives 
and sympathizing friends. The visit to the home and 
community where Mrs. D. was born, where her girl- 
hood life was spent, and where she was married; where 
she and her husband started in life together, the house 
they built, the orchard they planted, and a hundred 
other things furnished a mental book, profusely illus- 
trated, of mingled joy and sadness. 

It was discovered that a young attorney had been 
instrumental in causing the letter to be written. He 
would, he said, for a retaining fee of twenty-five dol- 
lars and twenty-five per cent of all he might secure for 
Mrs. D., undertake the case. A prolonged interview 
with the county jndge convinced Mrs. D. that it would 
not be necessary to employ an attorney, and that there 
was not very much to hope for in her case. He stated 
that if she would await the coming session of court the 
matter might be looked into, and if any errors had oc- 
curred, they would no doubt be corrected. 

The widow, son, and daughter visited the neglected 
grave of the husband and father. They cleared it of 
rubbish, refilled it, sodded it, had a neat, substantial 


72 


PERSIMMONS. 


fence put around it, and placed above it a neat stone on 
which was inscribed his name, age, the date of his mur- 
der, and the inscription — 

“A martyr to his convictions.” 


CHAPTER X. 

At the solicitation of relatives Mrs. D. decided to 
remain awhile, but Ben and Hannah returned to their 
northern home. On the w T ay home an incident oc- 
curred which I think will be interesting to my girl 
readers. 

The train had crossed the hi"h bridge over the Ohio 
river opposite Cincinnati. They had changed cars and 
started westward on the road which follows the river for 
so many miles. As those know who have traveled that 
way, the train passes many little hamlets nestled under 
the bluffs, many rich gardens, groves, vineyards, and 
sweet, happy homes, all hedged about and interspersed 
with flowers. The sun that had dreamed away the 
sleepy, hazy autumn afternoon was near its setting. 
Sailboats were skimming the Ohio, ponderous steam- 
boats were puffing up and down the river, ferryboats 
were shooting across, groups of happy children were 
playing along the shore gathering pebbles and shells, 


PERSIMMONS. 


73 


gathering health, joy, and inspiration from the glad 
incense of nature. 

The coach was crowded. Ben had given Hannah 
the seat next the window, and they gave themselves 
over to the full enjoyment of the panorama outside, 
exchanging comments in low tones, and sometimes 
smiling at each other at something ludicrous or 
charming. 

Immediately behind them sat a lady, well dressed, 
wearing gold glasses, apparently intelligent and well 
versed in good manners; by her side sat a gentleman 
equally well dressed, equally intelligent and well-man- 
nered; he was fair complexioned, had long, curly hair, 
and a heavy brown moustache with a little horn at each 
end that pointed straight upward. Ben had heard a 
number of tete-a-tete remarks by them, such as “Oh 
dear, little Ducky, silly, spooney, disgusting, what a 
sweet one that was, this time next year, precious fools,” 
etc. Ben paid no attention to them. It did not occur 
to him that the remarks were directed toward him and 
his sister. 

If he gave any thought to the remarks at all, it was 
to the effect that the pair were interested in each other 
while Hannah and lie were enjoying the scenery and the 
companionship of brother and sister. He had not 
noticed that his arm was resting on the back of the seat 
and that his hand now and then touched Hannah lightly 
on the shoulder when something peculiarly interesting 
attracted his attention. He was unmindful of the pas- 
sengers till Hannah remarked: “That man and woman 
in the seat behind us are making fun of us.” 

After listening a minute or two Ben was convinced 


74 


PERSIMMONS. 


that this was true. He at once became quite angry; 
for while a truer, nobler heart never beat in human 
breast, he was impulsive and at times had hard work to 
control his temper. ‘’I’ll settle their smirching,” said 
Ben in an excited whisper. “I’ll smash his nose and 
make his moustache point the other way, and I'll teach 

her” “No, no, Bennie,’* said Hannah, as she caught 

his hand in both of hers. 

“Oh, you precious mutton!” murmured the lady to 
the gentleman, with her hand to her mouth. This was 
followed by a suppressed giggle. 

Ben got up, flushed with anger, and walked to the 
rear of the coach. He looked for some time out 
through the glass door, then returned to his seat, but 
sat well toward the end of it, away from Hannah. 

“Tiffy,” whispered the gentleman. The lady snick- 
ered. 

Ben arose again, walked to the front of the coach, 
and sat down in the now unoccupied front seat. The 
brakeman stopped and sat down beside him, and soon 
they began talking. They found each other interest- 
ing, and as the towns were now farther apart and the 
brakeman had more leisure, he returned, after attending 
to his duties at the stations, to talk with Ben. 

“Do you know that man and woman sitting behind 
that girl with a red feather in her hat?” said Ben. 

“Yes,” said the brakeman. “I don’t know their 
names, but I’ve seen them lots of times; don’t know 
as I ever seen them together before, though. He is a 
married man; anyhow, coming down the other day he 
had a woman with him that called him paw; don’t know 
what she is; old maid, I guess. They are on the train 


PERSIMMONS. 


75 


every once in a while. She is a temperance lecturer or 
’vangelist or somethin’; a W. T. C. or” 

“W.C. T. U.?” asked Ben. 

“Yes, or G. A. R. or somethin’,” said the brakeman ; 
“and he is a book agent or missionary or some kind of 
a gospel agent. Anyhow they both travel on half-fare 
tickets.” 

“Do you know the girl?” asked Ben. 

“Why!” said the brakeman, looking straight at Ben, 
“she’s your sister, aint she? looks enough like you.” 

“You wouldn’t take her, then, to be my wife — my 
bride?” said Ben. 

“Naw,” said the brakeman, “nor nobody would that’s 
got a thimbleful of brains or ever seen anybody ’cept 
his grandmother.” 

It was now dark and nothing more could be seen 
outside. Ben went back to his seat beside Hannah, 
who had made a pillow of her shawl and was leaning 
forward, resting her head on the seat in front of her, 
taking a nap. The lady and gentleman had exchanged 
seats for some cause. This placed Ben immediately in 
front of the lady. He had settled down in a restful 
position and closed his eyes. The lady was preparing 
to imitate Hannah’s example, saying to the gentleman 
in an undertone as she did so, “I wonder if his little 
ducky will care if I lay my head here so near to his 
shoulder!” 

Ben was not angry now, but he felt like talking. He 
turned abruptly round and said: “His little ducky, as 
you call her, is my sister — my sister Hannah, and I do 
not suppose she will care if you lay your head near my 
shoulder. She is a very sensible girl, and not as soft 


76 


PERSIMMONS. 


as yon think her to be, nor am I as green as you think 
me to be. 

You have enjoyed a good deal of sport at our expense 
since we left the city, and I am sorry to disappoint you 
by telling you that the disgusting, silly, precious fools 
who have annoyed you so much are brother and sister. 
As you go about lecturing people to be temperate, to be 
charitable, to be good, it might be well for you to work 
in a little talk now and then about being courteous to 
strangers. Advise people not to indulge in uncharitable 
and cutting remarks about those who may not be as well 
dressed as themselves, who may not have seen as much 
of the world, who may not be quite as well up in fash- 
ionable etiquette, and yet who are perhaps their supe- 
riors in other respects.” 

“You’re talking now,” said the brakeman, as he 
hustled by. The two were completely taken aback at 
Ben’s little speech, and after recovering somewhat from 
their embarrassment they were profuse with apologies. 

They would like to form the acquaintance, they said, 
of a young man who could be so courteous and attentive 
to his sister as to lead persons as well versed in human 
nature as they were to mistake the brother and sister 
for a young bride and groom. They would like at least 
to know his name. 

Ben had no cards to give them, but he smiled and 
said his name was Persimmons. 


PERSIMMONS. 


77 


CHAPTER XI. 

Mrs. D., becoming tired of the “law’s delay and the 
insolence of office,” gave up all thought of recovering 
her stolen property in the South and returned home 
after a month’s absence. She brought with her a half 
demented brother, one of those unfortunate, harmless 
creatures who possess a strong, healthy body, but a 
feeble, disjointed mind. Poor George had had no home 
since his own mother died. A pledge from a brother 
to take care of George and to furnish him a home had 
been forfeited. The money and property set aside for 
George’s benefit had been squandered, and for some 
time he had been trying to make his way, kicked about 
and imposed upon, without a home and without friends. 
Mrs. D., though less able to do so than any of her 
brothers or sisters, made room for him in her own home. 

The children soon learned to love Uncle George. He 
told them a great many stories about birds, animals, and 
insects; bees, trees, rocks, and flowers. He had never 
attended any school except the kindergarten of Dame 
Nature. 

“Himself to Nature’s heart so near, 

That all her voices in his ear, 

Of beast or bird, had meanings clear.” 

The children had many things to tell their mother 
about what had happened during her absence. Miss 
Sprightly, who had taught the Daisy Dell school the 


78 


PERSIMMONS. 


past two years and had been employed for the third 
year, had been compelled to give np her school on ac- 
count of the sickness of her mother. “And just think, 
mother,” said Hez, “Carl Brown is the teacher now, 
and I don’t like him one bit. Miss Sprightly used to 
come and sit down by me and talk to me about my 
lessons and make it all so plain that I had no trouble 
to understand it, but Carl just stands up there and 
hollers at me, and the more he hollers the dumber 
I get.” 

Mrs. D. laughed, but Hez buried his face in her lap 
and began to cry. When he could talk he said, “Ben- 
nie hired me to go till you came home; and now you 
are home, and I don’t have to stay hired any longer.” 

Perhaps my readers are as much surprised as Mrs. D. 
was to know that Carl was teaching at Daisy Dell, 
hence a word of explanation may be in order. 

A new county superintendent had been elected that 
fall and Carl had done some good work electioneering 
for him, and to reward Carl the superintendent had 
given him a certificate to teach. 

Carl’s experience on the steamboat proved to be a 
wholesome lesson to him. He straightened up and 
went to work when he came home, and for a while h§ 
did pretty well, but he had not been trained to work on 
the farm when he was little, and he would not stick to 
it. He was now a young man, but he preferred to ride 
around in his road cart and help elect people to office. 
He had had some experience in canvassing as a book 
agent and as an agent for school furniture. He had 
also tried selling fruit trees, and for a time had run a 
w T agon, peddling tinware and buying rags and old iron. 


PERSIMMONS. 


79 


Dear boys, who are reading this story, it seems hard 
to think that a boy must have what seems to him a hard 
time of it when he is little, to be of much account when 
he grows up, but it is true. I have lived to see a great 
many boys grow up to manhood, and if my observation 
is right, it is the little fellows who must tug and toil and 
sweat, while other boys are riding around on their 
ponies, that make the sturdy men; while the pony boys, 
the bicycle boys, the boys that seem to have a picnic 
every day seldom amount to much as men. 

When Miss Sprightly resigned, the directors applied 
to the superintendent for a teacher. The superintend- 
ent replied that there were two young men in that part 
of the county who had certificates; one was young Ben- 
jamin D., the other was young Brown, a son of Deacon 
Brown. “I do not know anything about the first one 
named,” said he, “except that my predecessor granted 
him a certificate. I do know Mr. Brown, however, and 
give it as my opinion that he will make a good teacher.” 

The superintendent immediately notified Carl of the 
vacancy and Carl and his father went at once to see* 
about it. Carl showed the directors his certificate and 
reminded them that he was a graduate from a business 
college. Ben was talked about very favorably, and one 
of the directors was anxious to employ him, but Ben 
was away from home at the time, not having returned 
from his trip South, and, as Deacon Brown was inti- 
mately acquainted with the leading director, there was 
little difficulty in securing the place for Carl. 

It is pitiful to see misfits anywhere, boys and girls, 
but the world is full of them. People are preaching 
who ought to be farming. Many are farming who 


80 


PERSIMMONS. 


would succeed better as mechanics. Some are teaching 
school for whom a kitchen or a shop would be a more 
fitting place. Doctors, lawyers, and editors get badly 
mixed up and find themselves in each others’ shoes and 
with each others’ hats on. I used to read a little poem 
in one of the old school readers, each stanza of which 
ended with the lines — 

“As round and round we run, 

Ever the right comes uppermost, 

And ever is justice done.” 

I used to wonder, and have wondered many times 
since, whether these lines are true or not. In the man- 
agement of human affairs an extensive credit business 
seems to be carried on. Now and then settlement is 
made spot cash, but most of the acts of people, both 
good and bad, are booked for settlement in the future. 

Carl was a misfit as a teacher. Mrs. D. and Ben were 
very much perplexed about it. The children had done 
so nicely with Miss Sprightly, and now to think that 
they were to waste their time, form wrong habits of 
study, and perhaps form a distaste for school and study 
•altogether, seemed too bad to be endured. They were 
in a quandary. I have many times noticed when peo- 
ple get into a quandary and do not know which way to 
turn, that an accident or something will happen which 
will clear up the dilemma and illuminate the way. 

Carl’s career as a teacher was short, and it came about " 
in this way : Miss Sprightly had started a class in alge- 
bra, consisting of seven or eight of the largest boys and 
girls. Carl had never studied algebra, but thought he 
could teach the subject with little trouble by studying 
along ahead of the class. He tried it for a while and 
thought himself, and even made the pupils think, they 


PERSIMMONS. 


81 


were getting along very well, though it seemed odd 
enough to him and them to add when they were sub- 
tracting and subtract when they were adding. They 
moved along page after page till the theorems were 
reached, then the path grew dimmer and dimmer, and 
finally they landed in a mathematical swamp. 

While Ben and his mother were thinking and debat- 
ing about what was the best to be done, Hez and his 
two little sisters, Maggie and Hettie, were allowed to 
remain out of school a few days. One day Hez heard 
Ben remark to his mother that he did not think it worth 
while to send the children to school to Carl — that he 
would rather let them lose a whole year’s schooling. 
This pleased Hez so well that he took it into his head 
to go down to the schoolhouse that evening, which was 
only half a mile away, and get his books. He thought 
the door might be locked, but that he could climb in at 
the window. So after supper he got his cap and slipped 
out the back way and went down to the schoolhouse. 
It was dark, but he did not feel much afraid, as Hector 
went with him. He did not try the door but got a 
piece of rail and placed it up below the window, and 
climbing up he saw Mr. Brown, the teacher, inside. He 
seemed to be busy and Hez watched him. 

This will remind my readers of a similar scene which 
occurred in the early part of this story, but it is well 
for us to remember that not only history but the inci- 
dents of life frequently repeat themseles. Hez saw 
the teacher go from desk to desk and take from each a 
book. The books looked alike and there were seven or 
eight of them. When he had gotten them together he 
opened the stove door and put them in. This almost 


82 


PERSIMMONS. 


made Hez cry, for he was afraid his books might be 
among them. He hardly knew what to do ; he felt scared 
lest Carl should see him and then catch him and whip him, 
for he had gotten already ten black marks for whisper- 
ing at school, and, according to a rule that Carl had 
made, a whipping was due him. 

He slipped down quietly, whistled softly to Hector, 
and hurried back home. He came in looking excited 
and warm. “Where have you been, Hezzy?” said his 
mother. He drew a long breath and said: “Nowhere, 
much.” His mother called him to her, and after a little 
while he told her where he had been and what he had 
seen. Ben had been to town that afternoon, and return- 
ing quite late, had seen Hez and Hector down near the 
schoolhouse, but supposed they had been to a neighbor’s 
on an errand. They were greatly interested in Hez’s 
recital of what he had seen, but thought it best' to say 
nothing about it for a few days. “I was talking with 
Mr. Nelson this afternoon about the school,” said Ben. 
“He told me he did not think that Carl could teach out 
the term, and w T anted me to say I would take it in case 
Carl should be discharged.” 

“You, Bennie!” said his sisters. “I do wish you 
would,” said Hez, “only I wish you wouldn’t give black 
marks for whispering.” 

It was not long after the opening of school on the 
following morning till one of the girls of the algebra 
class raised her hand, with the remark: “Teacher, my 
algebra is gone.” 

“Perhaps you took it home with you,” said the 
teacher. 

“No, sir. I am quite sure I left it in my desk.” 


PERSIMMONS. 


83 


“My algebra is gone, too,” said another. “And mine, 
too,” said another and another until all the class de- 
clared their algebras were missing. 

“That is very strange,” said the teacher. “I cannot 
understand it.” He then went to his desk and looked 
for his own algebra, but it was nowhere to be found. 
After frowning awhile, knitting his brows, and biting 
his lips, Carl said: “Children, I believe a dastardly, 
cowardly thing has been done. When I came to the 
schoolhouse this morning I found the door broken open, 
but I did not miss anything and I supposed some tramp 
had broken in and slept here. I noticed a fire had 
been started, but thought nothing of that. I believe 
now that the cowardly villain who broke the door lock 
has taken your algebras and burned them up. I will 
not mention any names, but, as some of you know, there 
is a young man in this neighborhood who wanted this 
school when I was employed, and I do not think he is 
any too good to do a thing of that sort for the purpose 
of throwing suspicion onto me. I regret this very 
much, for we had an important lesson to-day. Those 
theorems are very important. But since this is Friday, 
we will let the matter rest till Monday morning. I will 
consult the directors in the meantime as to what we 
had better do.” 

Some of the scholars looked angry, some looked con- 
fused, and some laughed. 

After opening school on Monday morning, Carl said 
to the scholars that the disappearance of the algebras 
was still a great mystery to him, but he had thought 
the matter over, and as it would be quite expensive for 
them to buy new books, he had decided to put book- 


84 


PERSIMMONS. 


keeping in the place of algebra. It would really be 
worth more to them than algebra, he said, although 
algebra was a very useful and interesting study. He 
told the scholars he w T ould furnish them all the paper 
and books they would need at his own expense. Thus 
bookkeeping was substituted for algebra at Daisy Dell, 
and as the parents had no books to buy, there was not 
much said about it. 

Although it had been agreed that nothing should be 
said by any of the family about what Hez had seen, at 
least for a few days, Maggie told her little friend Grace 
Munson about it, Grace promising not to tell, of course; 
and Grace told Effie Nelson as a secret, and Effie told 
her mamma, and Mrs. Nelson told Mr. Nelson. Now, 
Mr. Nelson did not know it was a secret, and that was 
the way it ^ot out. Mr. Nelson and another member 
of the board of directors came over to Mrs. D.’s to see 
about it. Hez told the story of his observations in such 
a straightforward, truthful way, that there was no 
doubting what he said. Hector was standing by and 
wagged his tail in approval. The result w T as that Carl 
was dismissed at the end of the week and Ben was asked 
to take charge of the school. 

Ben said he did not like to do so under the circum- 
stances; that Carl had intimated some things about him 
that some of the scholars might believe to be true, and 
that would make against him; but the directors assured 
Ben that nobody in the neighborhood believed other- 
wise than that Carl himself had destroyed the algebras; 
that he could not teach the subject, and saw T no other 
way out of the difficulty ; that such was their respect for 
Carl’s parents that they preferred not to make any 
trouble about it. 


PERSIMMONS. 


85 - 


They said they had already discharged Carl, and, 
needing a teacher, they were perfectly satisfied to em- 
ploy Ben. He then agreed to take the school the 
remaining three months of the term. On the morning 
of beginning he made a little talk to the scholars, in 
which he told them that he had never taught school 
and would very likely make some mistakes ; that he was 
there to do them all the good he could; that if they 
would do their part he would try to do his; that he 
wanted to become acquainted with every one of them, 
and desired to be a personal friend to every one of 
them. He had only one rule to make and that was 
very short; it was “Do right.” 

Ben taught out the term to the perfect satisfaction 
of everybody ; even Sam Berkshire said he was the best 
teacher they had ever had. He continued to work 
hard on the farm during the spring and summer and 
to teach at Daisy Dell during the winter for the two 
following years. 

The payments on the farm had all been met and it was 
now paid for, and a more delightful home could not be 
found anywhere. Uncle George kept the lawn well 
mowed and cared for; he pruned and tied up the ros& 
bushes, he took the garden under his special care, and 
actually loved every tree in the orchard. He could not 
plan very well, but he could work. Sunrise and sunset 
marked the day for him, and in it he never stopped 
working except for his meals or to watch now and then 
the doings of a bird, a bug, or a worm. 

Ben was now twenty-three years old. He was still 
tall but he was no longer slender; he had grown wide 
and big around, and he weighed two hundred and thirty 


86 


PERSIMMONS. 


pounds. He had not lost sight of his other ambition — 
that of going to college. He had kept up a course of read- 
ing with the college in view, but as the time approached 
many barriers placed themselves before him. He was 
past the age when most young men start to college. 
He would necessarily spend the savings of the family 
for the past few years, and perhaps more. His friends 
told him that it was of no use; that he already knew 
more of books than most men. Some said a college 
education would make him dissatisfied and unhappy. 

One friend told him that he could not earn any more 
money after he graduated from college than he could 
now. Another told him that if he wanted to be a 
preacher, he need not go to college ; that educated 
preachers were proud and stuck up, and that all he ’had 
to do was to open his mouth and the Lord would fill 
it with words. (Though Ben had conducted a Sunday 
school at Daisy Dell for the past three years, and every- 
body liked to hear him talk about the lessons, he did 
not think he would be a minister.) He liked agricul- 
ture and everything pertaining to it; he also liked to 
teach school. 

He had experimented a little with the cultivation of 
small fruits. One very dry season he and the girls 
made a hundred dollars on about an eighth of an acre 
of strawberries simply by devising a plan to water 
them. This and other experiments led him to believe 
he might make a little fortune out of small fruits. He 
was devoted to his mother and sisters and thoroughly 
enjoyed being at home. Besides all this, the directors 
offered him seventy dollars a month to fake the school 
again at Daisy Dell. 


PERSIMMONS. 


87 


Would it not be foolish to throw away all these ad- 
vantages, opportunities, and pleasures just to go to 
college? What did he want to go to college for, any 
way ? Was it ambition . to be elected some time to a 
high office? Nobody had ever patted him on the head 
and told him he w T ould be president some day or stand 
in the halls of congress or be governor of the state or 
anything of that sort. He never expected to be elected 
to office of any kind. Men who are elected to office, as 
a rule, are compelled to do things, to say things, and 
and to promise things that were repulsive to Ben's na- 
ture. Did he wish to go to college that he might become 
a champion in the base ball nine or foot ball eleven and 
enjoy the glory of seeing his name in print, decorated 
by all that delightful lingo which fills the college col- 
umn of the daily papers ? That young men have gone 
to college to gratify this ambition, no one questions, 
but Ben was not that kind of a young man. 

About this time Mr. White called. His two days’ 
visit was a perpetual feast. He had graduated two 
years before and was now principal of a high school in 
a good town at a good salary. 

There are times when we would give almost anything 
to talk with some one in whom we have confidence as 
to what we had best do. Mr. White's visit was timely, 
for it gave Ben just such an opportunity. He listened 
attentively to all the hindrances that came between Ben 
and college and then remarked: 

“There are barriers to all the best things in the 
world. When gold was discovered in California, a long 
stretch of desert and two almost impassable ranges of 
mountains lay between the civilized people of the con- 


PERSIMMONS. 


S8 

tinent and the land of gold. The bones of animals and 
the graves of gold-seekers soon lined the trail that led 
from one to the other. You can live a happy and useful 
life if you never go to college, but I am satisfied you 
oan live a happier and far more useful life by going. 
After all,” continued Mr. White, “the best part of life 
is to live, and we are living, truly, while we are work- 
ing out some noble and good purpose. In other words, 
we are living while we have something to live for, and 
the higher and more noble that something, the richer 
will be the life. 

That little robin that sits on her nest up in that tree 
has a purpose in her little breast. The man you call 
Uncle George says she has been sitting there for two 
weeks. In a few days her purpose will be realized. 
She has been starving herself all this time, but then she 
has been living. If we were as true to our reason as 
the robin to its instinct, many more of us would really 
and truly live. Your mothers and sisters say the past 
five years have been happy years. You say they have 
been delightful years to you. Why? Because you 
have been working for a purpose, and that purpose 
has not been a selfish one. Your mother has that which, 
next to her family, is a woman’s greatest earthly treas- 
ure — namely, a home, and a charming home it is, too, 
I must say. Now, if the promptings of your being, 
if the longing of yout soul is to go to college, you 
ought to go ; not to do so would be to pave the way for 
lifelong regret.” 

“If Hannah could only go, too,” said Ben. 

“I’ll go,” said Hannah, as she looked up from her 
sewing. 


PERSIMMONS. 


89 - 


“Agreed, little ducky,” said Ben. 

“From kitchen to college,” said Hannah. “That 
sounds romantic.” 

The little robin looked down from her nest and nod- 
ded her head. 

Hector wagged his tail. Mrs. D. smiled and re- 
marked: “It has been the great desire of my life,” 

but something in her throat prevented her finishing 
the sentence. 


CHAPTER XII. 

September found Ben and Hannah enrolled as stu- 
dents at the university. Ben was entered as a freshman,, 
but it was necessary for Hannah to enter the preparatory 
department. She was willing to do this, however, and 
did not feel that somebody had a “spite at her” for 
putting her so low down. She knew how to work and 
had earned money enough in various ways, principally 
in Deacon Brown’s kitchen, to pay her way at school 
two years. 

It was not so much for her own sake as for her 
brother’s that she chose to make this use of her money. 
She knew there were times when Ben would need en- 


DO PERSIMMONS. 

couraging, and she would be right there to encourage 
him. She knew that good home victuals would go a 
long way toward keeping Ben’s courage up, so rooms 
were rented and furnished plainly, provisions were 
brought from home largely, and Hannah established 
herself as housekeeper and student. 

Ben soon found his place and took hold of his work 
vigorously. He attended strictly to his own business 
and did not have much to say to any one. This was 
all very well, but I think Ben overdid it. It is possible 
for a person to attend too strictly to his own business. 
We are all members of a community, and each one of 
us is a link in the community chain, and we suffer in- 
convenience and sometimes injustice when we try to be 
separate links, not attached to the other links of the 
chain. 

I think Ben understood this, but he was shy and big 
and awkward and busy with his own affairs; and for a 
time he had no chum except Hannah. This was un- 
fortunate. Before the end of the first term, however, 
Ben found a chum — a little, dwarfish fellow named 
Bigmy. The boys called him Pigmy, because he was 
so small. He was a good Latin student but had trouble 
with mathematics. It was just the opposite with Ben. 
They were attracted toward each other, I suppose, by 
the rule of opposites, as it is called — that Jack Sprat 
sort of rule which ties together the long and the short, 
the fat and the lean, the handsome and the homely. 

“I am afraid I am not going to carry geometry,” said 
Bigmy to Ben one evening. 

“I am sorry for you,” said Ben. 

“Yes, I believe you are, and I believe you are the 


PERSIMMONS. 


91 


only person at this university who is,” said Rigmy. 
“The professors have no patience with me and no mercy 
on me.” 

“Well, come over to my room this evening and give 
me a lift on my Latin and I’ll help you with the geom- 
etry,” said Ben. 

Such conversations as the above were of frequent 
occurrence between the two students, and Rigmy spent 
many evenings with Ben and his sister. 

Poor Rigmy was “batching” his way through college, 
lodging in a small attic room, with little money and 
few friends. 

By the way, boys and girls, if you live to be men 
and women, you will see many evidences that these two 
commodities increase and decrease in direct ratio. It 
seemed to Rigmy like an oasis in the desert to spend 
an evening now and then with Ben and Hannah, and 
many were the luscious bellflowers and Ben Davis’s from 
the home orchard that Rigmy ate by their cosey fire- 
side. 

Thus their acquaintance ripened into friendship, and 
Ben and Rigmy were frequently seen together. It was 
not only odd but amusing to see them walking along the 
street ; Ben was so large and tall and Rigmy was so thin 
and short. Then, too, he had almost to run to keep up 
with Ben. The students called them Goliath and David, 
Jumbo and Tom Thumb, and similar names. This, of 
course, was annoying, but they tried to disregard it. 
Most of my readers know how hard this is to do. 

One day at noon, while the students were filing into 
the dressing room, Ben and Rigmy were standing near 
the door discussing some question pertaining to their 


92 


PERSIMMONS. 


studies, when a waggish fellow placed himself in front 
of them and said: “Gentlemen, we have on exhibition 
to-day the far-famed white elephant of India and the 

only known specimen of the talking guinea pig,” 

He did not finish the sentence, for a blow from Ben’s 
fist sent him sprawling to the floor. The students gath- 
ered around, asking questions excitedly; the fellow 
picked himself up and said he would have Ben arrested, 
and explained to his associates that “the big lubber got 
mad at a little joke and struck me with his fist.” 

“Don’t blame him” — “served you right” — was heard 
from those who saw it. 

The next day Ben and the waggish fellow were called 
before the faculty. The wag was required to apologize 
to Ben and Bigmy, and Ben was reprimanded for being 
so hasty. It was plain to him, however, that the faculty 
did not blame him for striking the fellow. After this, 
some of the students called Ben, Heenan (this was the 
name of a noted prize fighter.) 

“You must learn that you cannot fight your way 
through,” said Hannah. “You remember I prevented 
your striking that man on the train, and just think how 
much better it turned out than if you had struck him.” 

“Yes, Hannah, but what would you do if everybody 
was everlastingly calling you names ? I think that fel- 
low needed knocking down, and I am not sorry I did 
it,” said Ben. 

“But it will only make matters worse, Bennie. I know 
it was contemptible, but you had to lower yourself to 
his level; you degraded your manhood, and for the 
moment the brute was uppermost.” 

“No, sister; I think you are mistaken. I did not get 


PERSIMMONS. 


93 


as low down as he did. I think the brute was on the 
floor; but you did not answer my question: what would 
you do if they were everlastingly calling you names ?” 

“I should pay no attention to it; I would appear 
rather to enjoy it.” 

“That is because you are a woman. If you had my 
fist you would not pretend to enjoy it.” 

“Oh, Bennie, Bennie, my noble brother must not 
talk in that way,” said Hannah. 

After thinking a moment Ben said: “I am sorry I 
ever came here. I wish I had made up my mind to be 
a farmer, without a college education. I do not think 
I shall come back next year.” 

“Oh, yes you will,” said Hannah. “You are dis- 
couraged now. What would Mr. White think of such 
talk?” 

“Oh,” replied Ben impatiently, “he would say some- 
thing about driftwood floating down stream, and the 
needle always pointing toward the pole, and tell that 
little story about Robert Bruce and the spider. I sup- 
posed at college young men acted like young men, and 
and not like school children. I declare this college life 
reminds me of my school days at Hickory Hollow. 
Hannah, why is it that everybody wants to pick at me 
and call me names ? I don’t bother anybody. I attend 
to my own business, and yet I cannot turn a corner or 
walk along the street without hearing somebody say 
Jumbo, Heenan, Goliath, Persimmons.” 

“Does anybody here call you Persimmons?” said 
Hannah. 

“Yes; I’ll never get rid of that hateful name. Carl 
Brown has a cousin here, and I suppose he has writ- 


94 


PERSIMMONS. 


ten to him or told him to call me Persimmons.” 

The excellent quality of his work and his manly de- 
portment soon won the confidence and esteem of the 
president and all the instructors at the institution. 

It was the custom for the two literary societies to have 
a contest each year at the close of the winter term. 
Ben had become a member of the P. Society but had 
not furnished any exercises for it, simply because he 
had not been asked to do so. One part of the contest 
consisted of a debate. During Ben’s second year at 
the university the P. Society were more anxious than 
usual to win the debate, but felt that no one in the 
society could cope with those who had been chosen from 
the other society. In their anxiety they appealed to 
the president of the institution. 

“Does Mr. D. belong to your society?” asked the 
president. 

“Yes,” was the reply; “but do you think he would 
do ?” 

“Judging from the character of his work and the 
earnestness of the fellow, I should not hesitate to try 
him,” said the president. 

“But, pardon me, professor; you know he is big and 
awkward and has been a sort of laughing stock among 
the students— that is, some of them; would not that 
make against us? ” 

“I have observed,” said the president, thoughtfully, 
“something of the unkind treatment of the students 
toward him, and his delivery may not be the most 
graceful, but what you want is sledge-hammer argu- 
ment; that is what will count with your judges.” The 
result was that at a meeting of the society Ben was 


PERSIMMONS. 


95 


chosen to lead the debate. He blushed and puckered 
his mouth when he was notified of the fact, but after 
talking it over with Hannah he concluded to accept. 
As soon as the other society heard of it they held a 
meeting to rejoice over their victory before it was won. 

Within the next few days Ben received numerous 
little reminders of the ridicule that was in store for 
him ; first, a stuffed toy elephant, then a bottle of sooth- 
ing syrup, then a cartoon of a portly toad making a 
speech to an audience of toads. This was followed by 
a picture of David beheading Goliath, a box of per- 
simmons, and several caricatures of prize fighters; 
valentines in all imaginable forms of ugliness; finally 
a stretcher with a fat man on it bandaged and poulticed 
as if he had fallen among thieves; and, meanest of all, 
a picture of a beer keg with a man’s head and legs 
attached to it. 

Ben felt demoralized and disgraced at all this, and 
more than once almost decided to pack up and go home, 
and would probably have done so had it not been for 
Hannah. He did not know that his antagonist had his 
room decorated with just such mementoes, or “scalps,” 
as the students called them. He did not know that it 
was the custom of the institution for the societies to 
outdo each other, if possible, in sending these trophies 
to the contestants, but felt that he had been singled out 
by the students as an intruder, and that it was their 
purpose to bury him under a deluge of odium and ridi- 
cule. As intimated above, that was because he did not 
talk to the boys enough. He did not make himself 
one of them. Soon after the arrival of the beer keg, 
Hannah found him one evening seated by the table 


96 


PERSIMMONS. 


where all these things were piled up. crying. My 
readers may smile at the idea of a man twenty -five 
years old, six feet two inches tall, and weighing two 
hundred thirty-two pounds, crying. The idea is, 
indeed, smilable. 

••Why, Bennie, what is the matter ? ” said Hannah, 
in suppressed breath; 'ds there bad news from home?” 

“No,” said Ben, when he could talk without blub- 
bering, “but just look at that,” holding up the beer keg; 
“an insinuation that because I am fleshy I am a beer- 
guzzler! I will not stand it. I am going home.” 

“No, Ben,” said Hannah, putting down her foot, “you 
are not going home. I am satisfied that no such mean- 
ing is intended. It is only a joke. The students have 
found that they can annoy you in this way, and if you 
would tell the boys how kindly you have been remem- 
bered of late and laugh about it, it would be much 
better than to cry about it. I am sure they will quit 
it as soon as the contest is over. The truth is, Bennie, 
you are altogether too sensitive. You look at these 
things through green goggles. They are not intended 
as you think they are at all. What evidence have you 
that anybody here thinks you a beer- drinker except that 
comical picture? None, whatever. If you expect ever 
to be a man, you must rid yourself of the habit of draw- 
ing such unwarranted conclusions.” 

“I wish I had some of your grit, Hannah.” said Ben. 

“I do, too,” said Hannah, “for I feel provoked at your 
pettishness.” 

About a week before the contest a large delegation 
of the society called to see Ben’s scalps, and they laughed 
heartily when they saw the array. He felt wonderfully 


PERSIMMONS. 


97 


cheered up when he learned that what had worried him 
so much was a custom of the institution and just what 
he might expect by virtue of being a contestant. “If 
you don’t want them,” said one of the company, “all 
you have to do is to lose the debate; then, according to 
the code, you will be expected to turn them all over to 
your opponent; on the other hand, if you win, you will 
get all of his. You will then have enough to start a 
dime museum,” 

The trophies kept coming till the evening of the con- 
test. but Ben had changed his goggles and they did not 
annoy him. 

The question for debate pertained to Maximilian and 
Mexico. Ben had thoroughly studied the subject and 
knew he had the side that ought to win. His opening 
speech was somewhat disappointing. His antagonist 
followed with some humorous remarks about the avoir- 
dupois of the previous speaker and the light weight of 
the speech. He then made a pretty speech, but made 
some statements which were not in accordance with the 
facts of history. He was loudly applauded, however, 
and sat down. 

Ben followed, and after correcting the misstatements 
that had been made, he proceeded to demolish the argu- 
ments of his opponent and to establish arguments of 
his own in such a logical, clear, and convincing way 
that there was no doubt in the minds of any one as to 
the outcome. He closed with a fine peroration referring 
to the relations existing between Spain, Mexico, and 
the United States. This was given in true Patrick 
Henry style. 

The decision of the judges was unanimous in favor of 


PERSIMMONS. 


98 - 

Ben. The P. Society were wild with excitement, and 
after the congratulations they procured a stretcher, 
placed Ben upon it, and required the other society to 
carry him in front of a long procession, which marched 
through the principal streets of the town and finally to 
the university again, where a banquet had been pre- 
pared in his honor. The ride on the stretcher reminded 
Ben of his ride on the rail at Hickory Hollow, but his 
feelings were far different. 

It may be of interest to state that Ben’s opponent 
in the debate was the waggish fellow whom he had 
floored once before. The next day the “scalps” of the 
defeated party were all piled on the stretcher and de- 
livered to Ben, according to custom. 

The tempestuous period in Ben’s college career was 
now about ended. He was no longer greeted as J.umbo, 
or Heenan, or Persimmons. 

The junior and senior years were full of interest to 
Ben and Hannah, and many things occurred which I 
would like to tell my young readers about, but I am 
admonished that I must not make this story longer 
than the school year. One little incident, however, I 
must not omit. The summer vacations were passed at 
work on the farm. One warm day in the latter part of 
August, as Ben was returning home from town, he was 
compelled to turn out of the road for a wagon loaded 
with wheat which had broken down. The driver was 
evidently in trouble. The tire had run off from one 
wheel and the wheel had collapsed. 

“In trouble, neighbor?” said Ben. When the man- 
looked up Ben saw that it was Pete Small. Ben laid 
aside his coat and insisted upon transferring the wheat to 


PERSIMMONS. 


99 


his own wagon. He and Small had not met for some 
time and they were glad to see each other, but Small 
w r as evidently the gladder of the two. There was not 
much time for ceremony, and Ben’s offer was accepted. 
The next day, when Small returned the wagon, he took 
from his pocket a five-dollar bill and handed it to Ben. 
Ben said he did not want any pay for the use of the 
wagon. 

“That is all right,” said Small. “You keep it. I 
owe you a little bill for helping me thresh one time, 
that I had forgotten to pay ; and besides, I want to pay 
you something for helping me out yesterday.” 

Ben smiled, puckered his mouth, handed Small two 
dollars, and put the bill in his pocket, refusing to take 
more. Thus he collected the money so hardly earned 
ten years before, and out of which he thought he had 
been defrauded. 

With the earnest hope that my readers have all ex-, 
perienced as much pleasure in reading this story as I 
have in writing it, I must now drop off the drapery of 
fiction and bring it to a close. 

Carl Brown is now living in town, a loafer, hunter, 
politician, and trader. His father deeded him three 
hundred acres of land in such a way that he cannot sell 
it. He says he is sure of a living, whether he works 
or not. 

Dick Snyder is serving a second term . in the state 
penitentiary. 

The last I heard from Ed Duncan he was keeping a 
saloon in a little town in southern Illinois. 

Mrs. D., Uncle George, Hez, and one of the girls still 
reside on the farm that Ben bought. 


100 


PERSIMMONS. 


Hannah is the wife of Mr. White. That gentleman 
recorded his first favorable impressions of her during 
his occasional calls upon Miss Maggie Brown. The 
affected culture, artificial music, and parlor manners of 
Miss Brown were never so attractive to him as the nat- 
ural womanly grace of the little girl who assisted Mrs. 
Brown in the kitchen. He would dismiss her, however, 
from his mind with a sigh and the thought that her 
mind would probably never reach beyond the round of 
domestic duties that cluster about the kitchen and that 
she would be out of place as the wife of an educated 
man. When the little conference on the veranda occur- 
red in which Ben, Mr. White, Hannah, and the Robin 
took part, Mr. White experienced a thrill of delight 
when Hannah decided to go to college. 

As for Ben, after graduating with the highest honors 
of the class, he was elected principal of the preparatory 
department of the institution, at a salary of twelve hun- 
dred dollars a year. Three years later he resigned for 
the purpose of traveling in Europe and studying at one 
of the German universities. On his return, he was 
elected to a professorship in one of the best colleges in 
the state. 

No story is complete, as no life is complete, without 
its love chapter. I will give only the head lines of Ben’s 
love chapter, that the reader may know it was not omit- 
ted in his life, though not given in the story. 

Enjoying a pleasant heart to heart talk with him in 
his room one day, the writer remarked: “Ben, you have 
completed your education; you have a good position at 
a good salary; what you need now is a good wife.” 

He became more serious and confidential and admit- 


PERSIMMONS. 


101 


ted that he thought it was true. Although Prof. D. 
had many friends and admirers among the young ladies, 
and had not been neglectful of his duties in their behalf, 
he seemed not to have met, the right one. 

‘•You see. Ben,” said I. after some talk about ideal 
wives, **a man cannot marry his mother or sister, and 
the next best thing to do is to find some one as nearly 
like her as possible.” 

Ben admitted that that was what he had been look- 
ing for. 

•‘Are you acquainted with Miss H.”? said I. 

“No; I know who she is; I have seen her but have 
never met her.” 

••In my opinion she would make you a capital wife. 
She is a cultured lady, of fine appearance, and a lady 
of excellent character.” 

"But she is, you are, I am, .” 

••No,” said I, catching his idea, “you would not be 
interfering with my plans in the least, and if you say so 
I shall be pleased to introduce her to you.” 

“I am sorry I am not better looking, but I shall be 
pleased to have an introduction to the lady,” was Ben’s 
closing remark, as he glanced at a mirror hanging on 
the wall. 

Soon afterward an occasion was planned to happen, 
and I performed my part according to agreement. 

In a few days I left the city to accept a position in a 
distant part of the state. A year and a half later I 
received a card of invitation to attend the wedding of 
Miss H. and Prof. D. 

For some years past the hero of our little story has 
been president of a flourishing college. He has the 


102 


PERSIMMONS. 


professional right, when he sees fit to use it, to place 
several capital D’s and other big letters after his name. 
He is a frequent contributor to the leading magazines 
and a lecturer of wide reputation. His home is one of 
the happiest, and I have never heard his statement dis- 
puted that no man living has a better wife. 

Hosts of young men and women whom he has helped 
over the shoals which lie between boyhood and girlhood 
on one side, and manhood and womanhood on the other, 
rise up to call him blessed. 


A STORY FOR 


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MEN AN© W(DMEN 

WHO Have Not Forgotten their School Days. 


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A. C. BUTLER, A. M. t 

Superintendent of Schools, 
Kewanee, Illinois. 




TAYLORVILLE, ILL.: 

S SCHOOL NEWS PRINT, C. M. PARKER, PUBLISHER. fc 


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